One Last Hurrah
by Bob Wright
Summary: Given the offer to join the president at a summit in the North Woods before college, Ferris Bueller invites a certain quintet to come along with him. A week of fun and entertainment-and a lot more-await them all...but danger lurks for all of them from foes old and new...NOW COMPLETED
1. Ferris's Offer

ONE LAST HURRAH

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As with many of the stories I write on this site, this idea came rushing unexpectedly into my mind and refused to let go, so it's only fair that I went ahead and wrote it. This story continues the continuity I've previously established in First Prize, Two Brains, One Heart, and Mr. Bueller Goes to Washington, so if you have not read these stories before reading this one, it would probably be a good idea to do so beforehand so that you know exactly why things in this take on the expanded "Hughesiverse" (for lack of a more proper name) are as they are. This likely will be the last full-length story I do concerning these characters, so hopefully I'll have effectively finished this take on their unofficial extended arcs well when all's said and done.

The Breakfast Club and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of Universal City Studios and the John Hughes estate, or whichever other entities would apply. Ferris Bueller's Day Off and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of Paramount Pictures Corporation and the Hughes estate. The rights of other previously established characters that will appear throughout this story will be noted as they appear. All lyrics are trademarked by their respective copyright holders. And now, sit back and enjoy what might well be one final trip by this author into the appealing world of Shermer, Illinois...

* * *

"Summer afternoons. They're just as enjoyable as sunny spring days. Maybe even more so. And of course, whenever I get one to enjoy, you know I will enjoy it to the fullest."

With a deep grin, Ferris Bueller leaned back in his inflatable backyard pool. "It's so good that you could all come back again," he said out loud, as if greeting an old friend once more, "Not too much has happened since last we met; it's been a pretty average summer. Of course, average for someone like me doesn't cut it, so I'm still looking for a little bit of excitement before college. Just a moment..."

He took a sip of lemonade from the cup laying nearby before continuing, "Me, I'm going to Ann Arbor myself. The University of Michigan will be my home for the next four years, starting nineteen days from now, August first," he went on, "It's far enough away from here that I don't have to worry about my parents catching me with anything, but close enough so I could still come home without problems if I need to. And besides, the larger student body means the professors probably lose me in a crowd, so I can probably get away with whatever I think of doing there. Of course, the best part is," he leaned forward, "Cameron won't be too far away, as he ultimately committed to Albion, which isn't too far away from Ann Arbor, so turns out I can drop in on him without trouble. You can't help but like the guy, and I did want to stay in touch with him, and now we can. He definitely wanted to get out of state and away from the bad memories at home, and I can't blame him for that. And with his father still serving his sentence for his rampage after finding the Ferrari wrecked and his mom still getting psychotherapy from her breakdown in the state mental hospital, he won't have to worry about them badgering him. I do hope college can help him go further along than he has already; I do want him to be a well-rounded person in the end."

He shifted around in the pool. "And like I said, that's pretty much about it, other than getting to enjoy driving my own Ferrari now," he continued, "But I'm a patient man, and I just know if I wait long enough, one more good time's going to come my way..."

It was at this moment in fact that his cell phone, which was laying nearby, started buzzing. Ferris reached for it and stared at the screen. A grin crossed his face. "Speak of the devil, here's the answer I've been looking for," he exclaimed, recognizing the number, "How do I time these things just right...?"

He hit the button to connect to the caller. "Well, good afternoon, it's nice to hear from you again," he said out loud.

"Good to hear from you again too, Ferris," the girl on the other end told him, "Listen, are you and Cameron and Sloane available this week? We'll be close by in Wisconsin, and if you're able to come up..."

"Just a moment, if you will," Ferris interrupted her. He jumped out of the pool and bustled towards the back porch. "Cameron, got something to tell you," he called loudly through the screen door. After a ten second delay, it swung open. "What's going on, Ferris?" a confused Cameron Frye stepped outside.

"Cameron, how would you like to be a part of one last great hurrah before college?" Ferris asked him.

"We're not going to hack into what's left of Mr. Rooney's bank account and use it to finance rebellions against tyrants around the world, are we, Ferris?" Cameron gave him a suspicious look.

"No, but thanks for that idea; I'll keep it in mind for later. What I'm talking about, old buddy, is what looks like a great offer for a week of fun, courtesy of our old friend from Washington who happens to like you a lot," Ferris told him with a smile, holding up the phone.

"You mean...?" surprise spreading on his face, Cameron took the phone from him and put it to his ear in a flash. "Natalie?" he asked breathlessly.

"Hello again, Cameron," the president's daughter greeted him warmly, "How's summer been going for you so far?"

"Uh, decent, but a little slow lately, to be honest," Cameron admitted, relinquishing the phone back to Ferris, who pressed the button to put it on speaker for both of them.

"Well, I've got the answer for your boredom if you're available," Natalie told him wryly, "Dad's scheduled to have a summit up at Lake Olafsson in Wisconsin this week with the new emir of Kuwait; he's bringing Mom and I along for it too..."

"Well, good for him; he's definitely getting better as a father if he's bringing you along with him on these official things," Cameron nodded.

"Yeah, I know. Well, since it looks like Lake Olafsson's not too far from Chicago, I asked if you and Ferris and Sloane could come spend the week with us at the summit, and he said yes. In fact, he said you could bring anyone along you wanted."

"I guess he's really, really grateful then for everything we did to make him see the light in regards to you, and keeping his office safe from Senator Tannen's greedy hands," Ferris mused, "Well, I guess our answer's yes, then."

"Wonderful," Natalie exclaimed in delight, "I'll be so glad to see the three of you again. All right, call me back no later than nine and let me know how many others are coming with you so the presidential coordinators can lock in the reservations. And make sure the others bring formal dress with them; we're having a big formal dinner for the emir when he arrives there with us in two days. You can probably head up tomorrow, though; we'll have your rooms at the hotel set by then."

"Well, sounds great. Thanks for calling, Natalie, and see you up there," Ferris told her, his own smile spreading.

"Be glad to see the two of you and Sloane again-especially you, Cameron," Natalie told him happily, making Cameron visibly blush, "And you're going to love it up there; we'll be staying in a brand new luxury hotel, and there's lot to do at Lake Olafsson, especially some zip lining, I've seen..."

"Well, you'll be in heaven for sure," Cameron remarked, "See you there, then, Natalie."

"Bye," Ferris wished the First Daughter farewell too before hanging up. "We hit the jackpot," Cameron," he told his best friend with a grin, "You can't ask for a better end of summer bash than this. And with Mom and Dad out of town on business all this week and Jeannie camping out with friends across the state, no one'll ever know we're gone."

"It does sound good, Ferris, that's for sure," Cameron agreed, "I'm wondering, though, maybe we should keep it just us and Sloane so no one gets..."

"Oh no, no, Cameron; if we have the offer to invite others, it would behoove us to invite others," Ferris countered, "Better as many people as possible get to enjoy this end of summer bash with us."

"But who can we invite, Ferris?"

"I don't know yet, Cam, but I think a walk ought to give us a few answers. So, if you'll give me a minute to get dressed," Ferris made for the back door, "We can be on our way..."

* * *

"I want it to be someone we don't usually hang out with, Cameron," he continued to his best friend as they walked down Fern Street fifteen minutes later, "Anyone can do anything with their inner circle, but an experience like this just calls out for bringing along people we're not intimate with."

"That's kind of hard, Ferris, given how much everyone tends to gravitate towards you," Cameron pointed out, "Who did you possibly have in mind?"

"Well, for one thing, we might..." Ferris stopped at the sound of angry shouting coming out of the house ahead on the left. It was moments later the front door slammed open. "...you can burn in hell, you old goat, you hear me, burn in hell!" the enraged figure of John Bender stormed out the door, shouting angrily over his shoulder back into the house.

"And don't bother coming back, you worthless filth!" Mr. Bender's equally angry-and, from what Ferris could ascertain, heavily intoxicated-voice shouted back. The door was slammed shut with a loud bang. Ferris's face lit up. "I think we have our answer, Cameron," he told his best friend, pointing at Bender's retreating form up the street.

"Him!?" Cameron gulped, "Ferris, I got very nervous sitting next to him in social studies all this year; the guy's a loose cannon just waiting to snap! How do we know he wouldn't...!?"

"We don't, but something deep down tells me we can trust him in the clutch. And since I've seen he's now friends with...yep, he'll do," Ferris nodded. "Come on, let's see if he'll say yes," he waved Cameron forward.

"I'd rather not, Ferris; I'd like to go to college in one piece!" Cameron protested. When Ferris continued after Bender, however, he groaned and muttered, "I'd better not regret this...!" and followed after him. Ferris caught up with Bender at the corner. "Afternoon, John, how's it going?" he asked out loud with a smile.

"Don't bother me, Bueller, I'm in a bad mood right now, and I don't want to have to wring someone's neck!" Bender warned him without turning around.

"Don't worry, I'll be quick and to the point, John. I'd like to make you an offer, one I think you're going to like..."

"No."

"Even before you hear what I have to say?"

"Are you deaf or stupid, Bueller!?" Bender finally spun around to glare him down, "Whatever you want from me, the answer's no, got it!?"

"Not even to offer you the chance for a wonderful vacation far away from here?" Ferris inquired, "Because that's my proposal, John: a whole week in the Wisconsin North Woods, with the president of the United States, in touch with nature..."

"For your information, Bueller, I hate the president and I hate nature. And, increasingly, I'm REALLY hating you. So make like a sub and take a dive away from here, got it!?" Bender warned him, stomping across the street now that the Walk light had come on.

"I get it, John, you're not happy at the moment," Ferris continued following him across the street despite Cameron waving wildly for him not to, "And believe me, I can understand why," he put on a burst of speed and reached the other side of the street ahead of his quarry, "I know how rough things are at home for you, John. I'm not blind; I could have taken a hint all through high school. Probably I'd be the same as you if I were in your shoes. That's why I'm offering this trip to you: a chance to get away from everything that's causing you pain and grief at the moment. A chance to find some semblance of peace."

"Who said I need any of that!?" Bender snapped at him.

"Well, me, of course, but that's beside the point. John, we may not be friends, but I'm making you this offer out of the goodness of my heart. Come with me, and I'll give you a week you'll remember fondly for the rest of your life," Ferris urged him, "One week on a lake in the very Great Outdoors, in a luxury hotel with full service and Secret Service protection. What more could anyone ask for?"

"And what's the catch?" Bender was still skeptical.

"Why should there be a catch?"

"Because your name's Ferris Bueller; you'd never do anything that wouldn't profit you to some degree."

"Well, sometimes I'll admit I have been that way, but there are times I like to do things out of the goodness of my heart. My last day of school that I skipped? It was for Cameron's sake," Ferris gestured at his friend across the street, who waved half-heartedly, "It was to show him a good time. That's what I'd like to do for you, John; show you a good time that you don't usually have."

"And why me? We never hung out, we never socialized..."

"That's my point, John; I'd like to take this opportunity, my last as a regular resident of Shermer, Illinois, and spend it with some people that I ordinarily didn't hang out with, to get to know more of humanity, and maybe in so doing learn a little about myself. You fit the bill perfectly there. As too would the people I've seen you hanging out with since spring. In fact, they're all invited too."

"Well..."

"Think about it, John. You and Claire Standish together under the stars, far from civilization-it's the perfect atmosphere for romance," Ferris painted a picture for him, "And isn't she going to college out of state?"

"To the University of Arizona, yeah," Bender admitted, his expression dropping somewhat.

"So, wouldn't this be a great last chance to have one final great fling with her? Think about it, isn't that something you'd want in case you'd never see her again after she leaves town?" Ferris pressed him. Bender slowly nodded softly. "All right, you convinced me, Bueller," he muttered, "But, just be warned: if this is a trick on your part, or you deliberately try to embarrass me at any point," he pulled out and activated a switchblade and thrust it right in Ferris's face, "No more days off for Ferris Bueller again, ever. Got it!?"

"Yep, I definitely get the point," Ferris nodded, staring at the very sharp knife, "All right then, call up the rest of your group and let me know no later than nine tonight if they're coming so I can lock in reservations."

"They'll probably come; lord knows they've probably got nothing better to do. And so you know, you can probably expect one additional person on the trip, if she can shake off her parents," Bender told him.

"Well, the more the merrier on this trip. Tell them to meet me in the parking lot at the James Hill Supermarket at seven tomorrow morning; transportation will be provided," Ferris said, "Oh, and as long as she does say yes, Claire's family does have that country estate west of the city, right?"

"Yeah, I've been out there once or twice over the summer when her family wasn't in."

"Would they be in now?"

"Nope; her dad ran off to Vegas with his new date, and her mom's down in the Caribbean, probably drinking her brains out over having gotten divorced," Bender muttered.

"Perfect, that's the perfect cover. Tell everyone else to tell their families they'll be spending the week there, and we won't be able to be reached by phone, computer, or anything out there. That way, we're home free for the week. Thanks for everything, John," Ferris patted him on the shoulder, "See you tomorrow at..."

"Rule Number One above everything, Bueller: DON'T touch me!" Bender shouted, thrusting the knife at him again.

"Right, gotcha," Ferris quickly retracted his arm, "Well, let me know who's all in, and see you tomorrow at seven."

He skipped back across the street to the waiting Cameron. "All set," he told his best friend, "We've got five, maybe six people coming with us on this."

"Again, I think we're making a mistake bringing him along, Ferris," Cameron glanced nervously at Bender walking away on the other side of the street.

"Come on, Cam, learn to trust someone you ordinarily wouldn't," Ferris urged him, "It'll make you a better person. Now that we have that straight," he pulled his cell phone and dialed a very familiar number. "Sloane my dear, it's your knight here," he said in the most romantic voice he could muster, "I'd like to make you an offer for the rest of the week that I think will be to your liking..."


	2. The Club Reassembles

"Looks like we're passing over Chicago about now," one of the guards on the prison transport plane said his partner, staring out the starboard side window.

"Yep; looks beautiful," his associate nodded, "That means probably about another three hours to California."

"It'll go by in no time, and then we can dump this bunch," the first guard pointed to the set of prisoners shackled in holding cells around the plane, "where they'll never come out again."

He and his colleague walked off, not noticing that their exit was being intensely watched by the man in the cell on the far left wall with the red hair and mustache. "Finally," he muttered softly, a dark grin spreading on his face, "I'm coming home, Ferris, and it's not going to be pretty..."

He glanced around to make sure no guards were visible before lifting up his tongue, revealing the lock pick hidden underneath it. He bent down to grab it, then jammed it into the locks to his restraints. He'd waited two months for this moment. Two months stuck in maximum security in Washington, D.C. after that filthy brat had gotten him arrested on attempted murder charges. Two months of having to endure a sentence of fifty years to life with a large, hairy cellmate who, from the look in his eyes, had been very eager to make him his boyfriend. But then had come his reprieve: the judge had ordered him transferred out to the West Coast to serve the rest of his sentence there, well away from those whose blood he now coveted. He had realized after heavy thought on the matter that the plane's flight would almost certainly take him over Chicago. He had then spent several hours in the prison library, studying the layouts of the type of transport plane that would likely be used for the trip, ultimately finalizing his plan down to the last detail. And now that they were over the Windy City, it was time to put it into effect.

And that would mean curtains for Ferris Bueller. Because absolutely no one made a fool out of Edward R. Rooney and got away with it.

In about a minute and a half, he'd managed to unlock all his restraints. He then twisted the pick against the bolts on the back of the lock to the cell door, unscrewing them. Houdini, he knew, had escaped from a safe this way many a time, and he was determined to do the same. Once the back of the lock was off, he grabbed hold of the springs and pulled them hard in different directions until a loud click signaled he'd unlocked the door with one of his guesses. Now speed would be his game, to get to the rear cargo ramp as fast as he could...

He shoved the door open and took off running towards the stern to cheers of the other prisoners traveling with him-which unfortunately signaled the guards that something was amiss. "Hey, Rooney, get back here!" came the furious shout from the other end of the plane, followed by a shot ringing out. Rooney ducked out of its way and charged rapidly down the stairs to the lower level. Only one guard stood between him and the door to the cargo hold. The man was taking a drink of coffee and not paying full attention to his surroundings. Rooney plowed into him before he could react, knocking him down. He grabbed the keys off him and started turning them in the lock to the cargo hold. "Rooney, freeze!" came another guard's shout behind him, right as the correct key turned in the lock. Rooney ducked the bullet, threw the door open, and jumped inside in a flash. He relocked the door from the inside, shoved several nearby crates against it to block the guards from coming in, threw the lever to open the bay doors, and grabbed a parachute off the wall. The guards pounded on the heavy door, trying to break it down. "So long, suckers!" Rooney shouted through the window at them, flashing them an obscene gesture as a parting shot. He rushed to edge of the ramp and stared down at the lights of the greater Chicago metropolitan area below him. "Here I come, Ferris!" he shouted down at the city before jumping off and free falling downward. After ten seconds, he pulled the ripcord, opening the chute with a snap. Rooney laughed hard in triumph. His plan had gone about as flawlessly as it could have. Now he could concentrate on his revenge.

He glanced at the ground below him. Judging by where Lake Michigan seemed to be on his right, it looked like he would be coming down in Northbrook. This was not a problem, he knew, as Northbrook was no more than a ten minute drive from Shermer. He could easily catch a ride there from someone, even at this late hour. The descent to the ground took about three more minutes before Rooney came crashing to a landing in a tree inside a park in downtown Northbrook. He unhooked himself-falling rapidly to the ground, given he had not bothered to brace himself on anything. Groaning, he got up and dusted himself off, then glanced around. No one seemed to be around. Perfect. He trudged out of the bushes and down one of the paths in the park. His best bet, he reasoned, would be to hail down a cab, have it take him into Shermer, and go from there, as long as he could figure out how not to pay the driver when...

"Hey, you, give me a dollar," came the call to his left. A man was stumbling towards him from a bench with his arm extended. "Forget it, pal, I don't have time!" Rooney barked at him, trying to stomp away.

"Look, just one dollar, I'm not asking for...!" the man grabbed his arm...and frowned. "Ed!?" he asked incredulously.

"How did...Richard!?" Rooney gasped himself to see that the newcomer was in fact his former boss, the former Shermer School District Superintendent-albeit now much thinner and with a beard, "What are you doing here!?"

"I could ask you the same question, Ed. I thought you were in maximum security for what happened in Washington?"

"I was, but not anymore. Edward R. Rooney found the way out of the problem," Rooney snickered, "But what's happened to you, Richard?"

"I lost the house in the divorce; the judge gave Irene everything," his old friend muttered in disgust, plopping back down on the bench, "I had to plea bargain with Johnson's family, otherwise I'd still be in jail now. I got thirty days, but the judge fined me for every cent I had to my name, and when I got out, Irene had filed for divorce and gotten everything awarded to her. I've been living in my car since then, begging for money like this. And you don't know how much it hurts for Richard P. Vernon to beg, Ed...!" he growled, rage crossing his face. "I know it was that filthy John Bender's fault; he turned Johnson and everyone else against me! If I could just get my hands on him and the rest of those little...!"

"I can give you that chance, Richard," Rooney sat down next to him, "I escaped to extract my pound of flesh from Ferris. Join me, and we can do the same to John Bender and the rest of his dirty Lunch Club, or whatever you said they started calling themselves. We'll take them all out, teach them a cold, hard lesson about crossing us."

"Ed, are you suggesting cold-blooded murder?" Vernon looked unsure, "I want John Bender to pay, yes, but..."

"Then why not have him pay the ultimate price? Come on, Richard, you know you want to. Give in to the hate; he needs to be taught his cold, hard lesson that men like us are not to be crossed. Come with me, and get back your self-respect. Make sure the world doesn't have to suffer having him, or any of the rest of them, in it," Rooney urged him.

"Well..." Vernon thought hard. A dark look then spread on his own face. "Yeah, yeah, you're right, Ed," he said coldly, rising to his feet, "Those kids need to pay for ruining our lives and disrespecting the system. Besides, we've got nothing left to lose right now anyway, and if we win, we rid the world of a bunch of undeserving lice; once people realize it, maybe we can even get reinstated."

"I'd rather burn Shermer High down or blow it up," Rooney muttered, "But, glad to have you aboard, partner," he shook Vernon's hand, "All right, where're you parked?"

"Other side of the park, Ed," Vernon waved the former principal to follow him. "But Ed," he turned back towards him, "If I'm doing this with you, we start with John Bender first. He needs to pay the most out of anyone."

"Well, if you insist, Richard. But we burn down the Buellers' house before we're done with our mission, preferably with all of them in it; I want no trace of him or his family to remain in this town at all."

* * *

And so, a half hour later, Vernon pounded loudly on the door of 666 Fern St. "What's the plan again?" he asked Rooney with a frown.

"I don't know; we'll see what we've got inside," Rooney responded, ringing the doorbell repeatedly. The door finally was flung open. "What the hell do you want!?" a furious-and clearly still drunk-Mr. Bender shouted at them.

"Richard Vernon and Ed Rooney, Art; we need to talk about John," the former superintendent told him.

"Go away; it's four in the morning!" Mr. Bender snarled, closing the door. Rooney jammed his foot into the doorframe, blocking it. "Art, we're not leaving until we see John, so get him down here," he ordered the man.

"Go to hell, Rooney!" Mr. Bender slurred, spitting at his feet, "And wait, weren't you and he canned?" he pointed at Vernon, "That means I don't gotta do anything for you...!"

"Art, either get him down here now, or we're coming in!" Vernon threatened him.

"No you're not! A man's home is his castle, and I'm not letting you in without...!" Mr. Bender started to tell them off. In a flash, Rooney shoved him to the floor and threw the door open. He and Vernon rushed inside and up the stairs to the second floor. "John, this is Richard Vernon, wake up and open up!" the former superintendent pounded hard on Bender's bedroom door. There was no response from inside. "John, either open up, or we're coming in on three!" he ordered, "One, two, three!"

He kicked the door open and barged in-only to find the room empty. "Where the hell is he!?" he shouted, glancing around.

"He must have been in here before and sneaked out," Rooney gestured at the wide open window near the desk, the light of which was on, "He must have...what have we here?" he picked up a folded map from the desk, one on which the section facing up had a location circled. "Lake Olafsson?" he mused, staring at it, "Very interesting, wouldn't you say, Richard?"

"Hmm, look at this too," Vernon picked up a piece of paper that had been laying next to the map and stared at it, "Do these names look familiar, Ed...?"

"Oh yes indeed," Rooney grinned, recognizing all the names on it, each of which had check marks next to them, "It looks like everyone we want's going to be all together in one..."

There came a cocking sound behind them. Both former educators spun to find themselves staring down the barrels of a double-barreled shotgun. "All right you two, I want you out of my house right now!" Mr. Bender roared at them, "And if you're not out by five, you're leaving feet first in an ambulance!"

"Please, Art, don't kid us," Rooney laughed, unfazed, "If you really think you're a threat to us when you're clearly as drunk as you are..."

"I'm sober enough put you two in your graves!" Mr. Bender bellowed, swaying drunkenly on his feet, "And don't think I won't do it...!"

"You know what, Art, just shut up!" Vernon shouted, "It's your fault the little cretin ended up the way he did! I have you to blame for him making my Saturdays miserable, as well as making every other teacher in the Shermer School District miserable! You really deserve to pay the price as much as he does!"

"One, three, five!" Mr. Bender pulled the trigger, but the gun misfired. Vernon grabbed it away from him, reared back, and smashed him hard across the face with the handle. He then grabbed Mr. Bender by the collar and hurled him hard down the stairs, then rushed down after him and continued pummeling him with the shotgun handle until the man's face was a bloody mess. "And if he comes back, Art, tell him he's got the same coming for him!" he shouted at his visibly unconscious victim.

"He's probably not coming back, Richard; he's probably going to Lake Olafsson, for whatever reason," Rooney called down from the top of the stairs, "So that's where we're going; if we hurry, we can beat them there."

"So where are you going!?" Vernon protested, seeing Rooney rushing down the hall to Mr. Bender's room.

"Getting his clothes to wear; I can't very well go out in a prison uniform!"

"Well hurry it up, Ed; the neighbors are bound to have heard all the ruckus in here and called the cops!" Vernon urged him on. "Oh well, Richard, you wanted some excitement back in your life again," he mumbled to himself, pacing impatiently in a circle, "And if it does mean getting the last laugh on that creep John Bender, it'll be worth it..."

* * *

"I can't believe you actually talked John Bender into coming along for this," an amazed Sloane Petersen admitted again to Ferris from the passenger seat of their Ferrari, now weaving its way towards the rendezvous point at the James Hill Supermarket in the early morning light, "But do you really think he and the rest of his new circle are going to come along in the end?"

"I don't think, Sloane my dear, I know," Ferris assured her.

"How?"

"I could see in his eyes that I'd convinced him. And besides," Ferris glanced into the rearview mirror, "If they didn't say yes, this would be an awfully short story."

He eased to a stop at the last red light before the supermarket and stroked Sloane's hair. "And of course, I'm so glad the most important girl in my life was able to come along too," he told her warmly, giving her a kiss on her cheek, "It wouldn't be the same without you along for the ride."

"You know I live for the thrill of the adventure as much as you do," she teased him. Ferris nodded knowingly and turned left into the currently abandoned supermarket parking lot. The sun was just starting to rise in the east as he eased into a parking space. Cameron, driving the second Ferrari now registered in the Buellers' name, pulled in next to him. "Do you think we'll have to wait long, Ferris?" he asked his best friend, climbing out of the car.

"I told them six o'clock, so it shouldn't be too much longer," Ferris checked his watch, "Now it looks like we..."

His attention was distracted by the wailing of sirens on the road behind them. A police car and an ambulance were screaming down the road in the direction they'd come. "Hmm, wonder what that's all about?" he mused out loud, then shrugged. "Oh well, probably not our concern. Nothing's our concern for the next week..."

"That's the best kind of trip; no need to worry about anyone breathing down our necks," Sloane agreed. "The cover is in place, though?" she inquired.

"When John called to confirm everyone, it was my understanding it was," Ferris told her, "We'll confirm when they arrive, of course..."

"Of course," she nodded. "You know, I would have never thought back at the beginning of the year that I would ever see five people as disparate as John Bender, Andrew Clark, Claire Standish, Brian Johnson, and Allison Reynolds as an even remotely close-knit group of friends," she mused out loud, "What exactly do you suppose happened in that detention they all had to serve that brought them together like that?"

"Who knows, Sloane, but the important thing is, it did bring them together. And I like it," Ferris said with a smile, "The more walls that can be broken down in this world, the better. That's why I chose to invite them along; to try and break down a few more walls before we all have to go our separate ways. Sometimes the moments you can share with a stranger are just a good as the ones you have with friends."

"Can I have that in writing?" Cameron inquired, not completely convinced. He turned at the sound of a horn from the road. "Is that them?" he asked.

"Has to be; only the Standishes could afford a car that expensive in this town," Sloane told him, noting the sleek black convertible pulling into the parking lot.

"Yep, that's them. Cam, keys," Ferris extended his hand to his best friend, who handed over the keys to the second Ferrari. He approached the newcomers as they pulled to a stop next to his own car. "Morning everyone; who's up for a trip to the North Woods?" he asked everyone inside.

"Like I said, Bueller, no tricks on this or else," Bender warned him, climbing out of the front passenger seat.

"Word of honor, John, no tricks," Ferris raised his hand as if under oath, "And since you didn't get to go along with the rest of us on the senior class trip to Washington, consider this my way of making that up to you."

"Whatever. But remember, Bueller, I hate the president, and I'm not doing anything to kiss his backside, even for you, his new best friend," Bender grumbled. Ferris paid him no heed. "Claire so fair, with the lovely red hair, good to see you," he greeted the convertible's driver as she climbed out herself, "Just to know for sure, there's no chance the cover with the country estate could fail?"

"You don't have to worry, Ferris; there's no phone or computer service out there, and when we're not there, only Carlos the groundskeeper's on the property, and he doesn't speak English. So as long as we don't do anything stupid, or Dad doesn't come back from Vegas with Marcia too soon..," Claire abruptly growled and slammed the car door shut hard. "Everything OK?" Ferris asked, concerned.

"I can't believe he just...the divorce paperwork's barely dry, and he jumps for the first attractive woman he comes across and leaves me alone here!" Claire ranted, fighting to keep her eyes dry, "I know what it is: it's one last way to spite Mom on her way out the door, to tell her she's trash to him! And as usual, I have to get stuck in the middle, the collateral for everything...!"

"I'm so sorry you have to go through this," Sloane told her sympathetically, putting a hand on her shoulder, "Well, I hope this trip we're going on can take some of the pain away for you."

"Thanks, I hope so. But it doesn't matter. One month from now, I'll be in college in Tucson, and I'm never coming back," Claire muttered, "It's time to be something other than Louis Standish's middleman daughter, and I don't care if I have money or not while I'm being whatever I am."

"Well, let us know if we can do anything this week. Andy, so fine and dandy," Ferris next greeted the ace wrestler, who had climbed out of the rear seat with the rest of the newcomers (Bender, at this, turned away and muttered under his breath, "Please God, don't let him rhyme all week long!"). "I hear you're going out of state too?" he continued.

"Iowa State, Ferris, yeah. That way, I'm far enough away from home so that Dad can't come out and...I can be myself, much like Claire can be herself in Arizona," Andrew nodded at the rich girl, "If he's not breathing down my back, maybe I'll actually start to like wrestling again for the first time in a long time."

"Here's hoping. Sometimes it just takes distance to give parents room to think more clearly," Ferris reasoned, "Any problems on your end in getting over here?"

"Uh, good news and bad news there, Ferris," Andrew winced, "The bad news is, my little brother caught me sneaking out; he'd gone the bathroom right before I got up, and he bumped into me and figured things out from all my suitcases. The good news is, I was able to buy his silence with eighty dollars and the promise he could have anything in my room after I go to college that I don't take with me."

"And can we trust him to keep quiet?" Cameron asked, skeptical.

"He knows I can twist him into a pretzel if he squeals, Cameron. And by the way, congratulations on winning the heart of the president's daughter," Andrew commended him, "I'd have never thought you of all people could have won over the most popular girl in the country as much as you seem to have."

"Um, well, um, I'm glad too," Cameron stammered nervously.

"Bet you're looking forward to getting to see her again."

"Uh, yeah, yeah I am."

"We all are," Ferris agreed. "And speaking of girlfriends," he took a few steps to his right, "I hear the future Mrs. Brian Johnson wanted to come as well-and is that for her?" he noticed the bag in the latest newcomer's hand.

"Uh, yeah, it is. I just had to ask her along for this too. But Ferris, I don't like hiding where we're going on this trip," Brian shifted about uncomfortably, "I don't like lying to my parents about anything, and..."

"Damn it, Johnson, will you just grow a spine and rebel for once in your life!?" Bender upbraided him, "Take the risk, embrace the danger...!"

"You know, Bender, not all of us hate our families with every ounce of our being!" the brain shot back, "Even after being blind for so long, my parents have done a lot of good for me, and I hate to mislead them! You do understand, right, Ferris?" he asked him with a pleading expression.

"I understand, Brian, but don't worry, the cover's foolproof, I have assurances," Ferris nodded at Claire, "Oh, and by the way, if you're still upset over finishing second in the Simmons tournament, don't be," he assured the brain, "That last round, with Shermer's epic comeback from the brink, will be remembered for ages to come, as will you."

"I know that now, Ferris, but thanks," Brian told him, "And the more I look at it, we earned as much finishing second as we would have if we'd won it."

"Good for you. And Allison my dear, glad to have you here," Ferris greeted the last new arrival, "So glad you could come along too."

"Nothing better to do around here right now, other than lie around in my room and count down the days till I go to Loyola. So thanks," Allison commended him, "And actually, I'm glad the president's going to be there at the lake," an unusual expression came over her face, "There's something I've been thinking of asking him lately that I hadn't thought of back in June when we were at the White House..."

"What?"

"It's, um, kind of a surprise," she mumbled, "But it's a surprise for a good cause, I promise you that. Something I'd like to do for someone I know that he'd be in good position to help with-I think..."

"Those are the best surprises of all. Hope it works out. Well," Ferris turned to the east, "The sun's coming up, so it's probably time to be on our way."

"Good, then; let's get going," Claire started towards the Ferraris.

"Uh, first though, Claire, one more thing before we go. John," Ferris approached Bender, "I must insist on no drugs on this trip. I want clean fun for all of us. So, for the time being, if you will," he extended his hand.

"What drugs? I don't have any drugs on me, Bueller, so stop being...!" Bender started to protest.

"Bender, just give it to him so we can get out of here," Claire told him wearily. Growling, Bender dug out a bag of pot from his pocket and put it into Ferris's hand. "I'm going to have to insist on all of it," Ferris shook his head.

"Fine, fine, have it your way!" Bender roared, producing an additional six bags and giving them to Ferris. "You'll get it back, I promise," Ferris assured him, "I'll just put it in a safe place where no one else can find it."

He walked over to the nearest manhole cover, lifted it up, and dropped the pot bags down the hole. "Hey, hey, hey!" Bender bellowed, rushing over, "What the hell are you doing, Bueller!?"

"Relax; unless it floods while we're gone, it'll be there when we get back," Ferris told him, "Easy to remember where we left it, and no one'll think of looking for it there. And with that said, I think we're ready to roll, so let's get on the road!"

The rest of his party cheered. "Here you go," Ferris handed Andrew the keys to the second Ferrari, "Just don't scratch it; this one's Jeannie's, and she'll kill me if she finds any damage." He then bustled over to Brian and asked, "Lake Forest, right?"

"Lake Forest, yeah," Brian nodded, "The address is..."

* * *

"Nice place," Ferris remarked, pulling front of the house in question a half hour later. He honked the Ferrari's horn twice. Ten seconds later, the front door swung open, "Well, well," he exclaimed with a grin at the sight of the figure now skipping towards the cars, "I'd heard you'd hooked a pretty one, Mr. Johnson, but I had no idea she was _this_ pretty," he leaned backwards to commend Brian in the second Ferrari. "Greetings," he leaned towards the girl skidding to a stop next to his Ferrari, "You must be Melissa."

"I am, and you must be Ferris Bueller," she shook his hand, "I've heard a lot about you. Good to see you're feeling better; I'd heard you were in bad shape back in the spring."

"All better now," Ferris told her with a wry grin. "Prepare yourself for a week amidst the thralls of nature, punctuated by the thrill of co-mingling with our nation's highest leaders. And did you bring a couple of the rockets I've heard you've been working on?" he eyed some of her suitcases.

"I did; I figured maybe if I got to show them and some of my designs for rockets to Mars and beyond to the president, maybe I'd get the chance to..." Melissa took an excited breath, "You know what I mean, right?"

"Absolutely. Hop on board, and we'll get rolling," Ferris gestured at the second Ferrari. Melissa skipped towards it. "Good morning," she greeted Brian with a smile, climbing in and giving him a warm hug, "Thank you so much for inviting me along on this-is that for me?" she noticed the bag at his feet.

"Uh, yeah, I figured that since we were going to the lake, and the skies would be darker and all..." he hesitantly held it up.

"Oh, a new professional level telescope!" she pulled out the box that was inside the bag, "This is a better model than I'd ever dreamed of using!"

"With hydraulic lift and computerized focusing," Brian explained, smiling to see her happy over it, "It was almost a hundred and fifty dollars, but you're more than worth it, Melissa."

"This'll really come in handy, especially with the Perseids peaking this week. Thank you so much, Brian," she gave him a kiss on the cheek, "You know how to make a girl happy."

"By buying her everything he can including the kitchen sink..." Bender muttered under his breath in Ferris's Ferrari. This, however, triggered an elbow in the ribs from Claire. "And since he means it from the bottom of his heart, it really means something-maybe something other people ought to consider for the people they care for!" she hissed at him.

"Hey, haven't I...!?" Bender started to protest. Ferris held up a hand to silence him. "Yep, we're glad to have you with us, Melissa," he called back to the new girl, "On trips like this, the more the merrier. And to be in the presence of an aspiring rocket designer for this trip is an honor I feel proud to have. And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is approximately a hundred and thirty-five miles to Lake Olafsson," he told all his fellow vacationers, "so prepare yourselves for the beginning of what hopefully will be the best week of all our lives!"

He dramatically hit the button to his car's radio, prompting Land of a Thousand Dances to roar to life on it. "Absolutely perfect, especially for our destination," he grinned, "OK, North Woods, here we come!"

* * *

"Have a great trip, everyone," declared the large rotund man down the block wearing a rumpled fedora and a long shabby coat despite the summery weather. He waved goodbye to the departing Ferraris. No one on board them noticed him-as neither did the two small girls drawing on the sidewalk with chalk not more than three feet to his left. "It's good to see they're going to have a good time, Keema," he bent down to tell his dog at his feet, "Shall we?"

He gently nudged the dog to its feet and started walking up the block in the direction the teens had driven. "Yep, my friend, it's always good to check in again on the people we help every now and then, both directly and indirectly, and it's good to see they've all gotten basically so much better over the last few months, Keema," he continued to his pet, "They all deserve this last hurrah. Speaking of which," he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time, "a bus should be leaving for Wisconsin around the corner in about five minutes, so what do you say we go join them up there?"

Keema came to a stop and looked up at his master with a soft moan and a quizzical expression. "And why not, buddy? I think after everything we've done for people in this city over the last five years, we've earned a break," the man told him, "Besides, lest you forget, in our current state of being, we can be omnipresent. If someone else in the greater Chicago area needs our help while we're gone, we can help them here and relax up there at the same time. There are a few perks with being dead, and this certainly is one of them. So what do you say?"

Keema bowed his head as if acquiescing. "Glad you agree. It's been too long since we've had a vacation," the man said, starting up the street again. He turned the corner and nodded to see a bus loading up at the depot. "And besides, Keema," he told the dog again, "I happen to really like these kids. I know they say we shouldn't get too attached to the people we look in on and try to help, but I've come to feel for each of them when we've followed their travails. So seeing them get the happy ending in person's a big plus. And in case something were to go horribly wrong for them on their trip, we'll be there to help. Well, all aboard," he stepped aboard the bus, "But of course, we shouldn't freeload even if we are dead, so," he produced a five dollar bill from his pocket, tapped it, and stuck it into the bus driver's jacket pocket. He and his dog trudged to the back of the bus and sat down on the floor, unnoticed by anyone else. "Here we go," he exclaimed as the bus pulled out. "We're going to like this, Keema, I promise it," he rubbed the dog behind the ears, "This is going to be one vacation William F. Stanpovalichki's going to enjoy for all eternity."


	3. Hello, Lake Olafsson

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The additional previously established Hughesian character appearing in this chapter is trademarked by Universal City Studios and the Hughes estate. Continuing on:

* * *

"Look buster, for the last time, we're looking for Lake Olafsson, got it!? O-LAF-SON!" Rooney barked in frustration at the service station attendant outside the front passenger window of Vernon's car.

"Sure about that? Up this way, we've got Lake Olafsson, Lake Oleson, Lake Olakoffson, Lake Olmeca, Lake Olfactorie..." the attendant rambled off several lake names.

"It's Olafsson, I swear it!" an equally frustrated Vernon yelled at him, "So we'd appreciate some directions if you don't mind!"

"Well, if it's Lake Olafsson you gents are looking for, you're pretty bad lost right now," the attendant told them matter of factually, "But if you wanted to go there, I'd head about ten miles up the road that way," he pointed down the road, "Turn left about a quarter of a mile before you reach the town of Heckersville, at the spot the old Hollingshead Tavern used to be. Then make two rights, a left, and another right, followed by four more lefts, and you'll be on Autumn Valley Road. Seven miles before it dead ends, turn left and follow Lizard Creek into the village of..."

"How the hell are we supposed to follow those directions and not get even more lost!?" Rooney interrupted him, "Just tell us the fastest way back to the interstate!"

"The interstate? Well, swing around and go back the way you came, make a right, a left, a right, a left, go over the covered bridge if it's not closed, and you should be close to Exit 294. If it is closed, then go fifteen miles due north, swing right, head about ten miles south, and..."

"Forget it, forget it, we'll find it ourselves!" Vernon cut him off. The former superintendent turned the key in the ignition...but got nothing. "Damn it, out of gas!" he bellowed, smacking the dashboard in frustration.

"I told you we should have gassed up at the truck stop near the Wisconsin border!" Rooney upbraided him, "But no, you insisted you had to shave more than anything and...!"

"You boys seem in an awful hurry to get to Lake Olafsson," the attendant noted.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious; yes we are, we're meeting some people there. Could you give us ten gallons for...?" Vernon asked him.

"Sorry, we're outta gas too," the attendant shrugged, "Tanker truck never showed up yesterday..."

Howling in rage, Rooney jumped out of the car and kicked the right front tire hard-and immediately yowled and hopped backwards, clutching his foot. "Never mind Ed, we'll hitch a ride," Vernon climbed out himself. "Keep it," he instructed the attendant, gesturing at his car, "It's a piece of junk now anyway. Come on, Ed," he gestured the still hopping former principal to follow him, "We're bound to find somebody who'll give us a lift along this road somewhere..."

* * *

"Reservation Bueller, party of nine, on special request of President Simmons himself," Ferris declared to the lead Secret Service agent at the checkpoint set up at the entrance to Lake Olafsson, handing the printout of his invitation to the man. The agent scanned it over and waved two colleagues to inspect the Ferraris. "Looks like this checks out," he nodded, "We got word the president invited a few special guests."

"And that's us," Sloane flashed him a grin.

"Cars check out," one of the other agents said out loud.

"Good. OK, drive a mile and a half in, veer left, go another two miles, and show this to the men at the hotel's checkpoint," the lead agent told Ferris, handing him back his form.

"Thank you. You're doing a great job so far," Ferris gave the man a thumbs-up and pulled forward. "Mission accomplished," he announced out loud. "And you thought I was only pulling your leg, John; how could you doubt me like that?" he turned to give Bender a faux hurt look.

"So far so good, Bueller, but I'm watching you the whole trip for any tricks," Bender warned him.

"Yes, we know, John, and that really gets stale after the first three or four threats," Sloane said with a roll of her eyes. She took a deep breath. "The air's so crisp up here..."

"Definitely cleaner than Chicago air, that's for sure," Cameron agreed, taking a breath of his own. He glanced along the thickly wooded road they were traveling on. "I wonder if this was what the Shermer area looked like back when John Wilden first settled it?"

"Probably," Ferris agreed, "His journals said it was thick woods when he arrived in the area back in 1831 after his long trek west from Ohio. Of course we thank him for clearing out the land and building a town on it-and probably the people back in his original hometown of Schiermerskirche in Germany are glad their name got to be carried over to the new world, albeit in Americanized form. Not to mention of course," he glanced into the rearview mirror again, "I'm sure you folks are quite glad the town of Shermer exists for all the stories that..."

"What the hell are you doing, Bueller!?" Bender demanded.

"Never mind, you wouldn't understand. Here we are, checkpoint two," Ferris noticed it in front of them. Two more agents waved his car to a stop. Ferris handed them the same printout. "I see," the head agent at this checkpoint nodded, "Party of nine?"

"Party of nine," Claire confirmed it for him.

"You'll each have to have an ID badge at all times due to the high level nature of the summit," the agent handed Ferris a tray filled with badges, "Don't lose yours. Park wherever you want, but you'll have to clear it with us if you drive out of here before its over. Enjoy your stay."

"Perimeter's secure?" Cameron had to ask.

"Yep; the whole lake's circled with agents," another Secret Service man nearby assured him, "No one's getting in here who's not supposed to."

"Good," Ferris nodded. "Oh, and what time can we expect the president to arrive tomorrow, if that's not classified, so we'll know how much time we'll have on our own before then?"

"Latest reports have him and the emir arriving around noon, although that could change," the lead agent informed him.

"Tell him to take all the time he needs; we'll be perfectly happy without him here," Bender cracked, prompting another elbow from Claire. "What!?" he protested, "It's true, after all! And why should you care when your old man gave his primary opponent five million in the last election!?"

"Because it's called basic human respect-and I thought Matthew Simmons was a better candidate than Trent Wofford myself. So please, I'm begging you, Bender, no matter how much you don't like the president and everything you think he stands for, don't put him down unfairly this week, for me if no one else, all right!?" she gave him a firm glare.

"All right, I'll try, for you," he sighed, "But so you know, I can't make any promises."

"I just want the effort," she grumbled, turning forward to observe the five story grand lodge towering over the beach before them. "Impressive," she lauded it.

"I'll say," Cameron agreed, jumping out once Ferris pulled into a parking space by the front door, "Although, it does kind of stick out in contrast to the regular cabins all along the lake..."

"That makes it all the better, Cam; we've got clear first class lodging for the vacation," Ferris pointed out, shutting off his Ferrari's engine and climbing out himself. He walked a few feet to the edge of the hotel's private beach and inhaled contentedly. "It does look lovely," Allison commented over his shoulder, she and the other occupants of the second Ferrari having joined him, "You chose a good place for us, Ferris."

"Thank the president for choosing it-but again, glad to be able to bring all of you along," Ferris told her. "Any of you guys ever been here before?" he turned back to ask everyone.

"I haven't, but Buck Ripley was last summer. He said it was a pretty interesting week for him, too," Andrew said, "Met a girl he liked up here...although he almost got eaten by a bear before it was over."

"Well, with the hotel firmly guarded like it is, we probably don't have to worry about bear attacks," Ferris assured him, "So, shall we go check in, then?"

The lobby of the hotel had a rustic north woods theme, with animal heads on the walls and lots of potted plants everywhere. Ferris approached the elderly man shining the bell at the front desk. "Excuse me, are you Wally?" he asked him, "We were told to ask for Wally..."

"That's me, Wally McNamara, owner of the hotel and renter of all the cabins along the lake," the man said, putting the bell down, "Welcome to the Grand Whitecap Lodge, the end result of nine months of rapid construction after I inherited a fortune from my uncle and took the advice of some Madison investors to try and add more of a resort element to the lake."

"Thank you, Basil Exposition; that was about five times more information than we really needed," Bender muttered under his breath. Wally didn't hear him, and Ferris ignored him. "Bueller, party of nine, checking in," he told Wally.

"Do you have reservations?"

"By special invitation of the president, yes," Ferris handed him the printout. Wally squinted at it. "Oh yeah, I got word you kids would all be coming," he nodded, "A bit surprising he'd invite you, though..."

"Well, we DID expose an attempt by Senator Bob Tannen to frame the president for his own sins and saved his daughter's life," Sloane boasted, "Name one politician and father that wouldn't be grateful?"

"Good point," Wally conceded, "Well," he dug out a set of code keys from under the desk, "We have two suites reserved for you all on the top floor down the hall from the prez; girls in one suite, boys in another. I'll have the staff take your bags up..."

"Uh, is that a shotgun lamp over there?" Cameron pointed at a light fixture propped up on a nearby table that looked very much like a real shotgun, "That's not loaded, is it?"

"That? No, it ain't loaded-now, although in case I...what's so funny there?" Wally noticed Andrew laughing.

"Oh, it's just, a friend of mine was here last summer, and he said you'd come in with a shotgun lamp to save the day when a bear got into his cabin..." the wrestler told him.

"Oh yeah, the Ripleys, I remember them well. Which reminds me," Wally turned back to the group with a grim expression, "They still haven't caught what's now known as the Bald-Headed Bald-Butted Killer Bear of Claire County yet. In fact, it's killed two more victims since last summer. True, they were drunk and wandered straight into its clutches, but that's two more people dead that shouldn't be. So be careful if you're out after dark; Secret Service or no Secret Service around here, that bear's a monster that no human can stop without the right firepower," he shot another glance at the shotgun lamp, "And once it locks in on its victim, it doesn't stop following it until it kills it."

"Sure, we'll be careful," Andrew agreed. He slid alongside Claire and whispered with a grin, "Un-BEAR-ably bad omen, huh? Killer Bear of Claire County, Claire...?"

"Oh very funny," she grumbled, giving him a light shove. "So what's on the schedule for tonight for entertainment?" she asked Wally as bellboys started taking their luggage and putting them on racks to be delivered to their suites.

"Well, so happens I'm master of ceremonies for all the special events here at the lake too," Wally told her, digging out a brochure from under his desk, "The music festival's going on all week of course, and tonight, we've got a pretty solid card, with the Crushing Cucumbers leading things off at eight, followed by a selection of polka favorites at nine by the..."

"Hey Wally," a well-dressed man ran up to the desk from the left, "Wally, the Crushing Cucumbers called; they have to cancel for tonight."

"Cancel?" Wally's brow furled.

"Plane broke down in Fresno; there's no way they can make it in time."

"Then what'll we fill it with?" Wally rolled his eyes, "You can't get acts lined up on that short of notice, and even in this part of the country, people'll riot if they have to listen to three hours of polka music...!"

"Say Wally, let me have a look at that," Ferris asked him, extending his hand, "Perhaps I can give you some help, if I know what kind of entertainment you're looking for."

* * *

"So you're saying we fill in for an hour?" Cameron asked his best friend, walking after Ferris towards the main dock on the waterfront, "You realize of course some of us can't sing, Ferris."

"I can handle most of the heavy lifting," Ferris assured him, scanning the brochure, "We've got to just get backup, so first thing after this, we get online or into the phone book and search for the closest cover band that can play the right tunes. I'm sure there's more than a few within a half hour's drive. Hey, take a look who's on stage tomorrow night; looks like it's the original lineup too," he handed Cameron the brochure. Cameron's eyes widened. "But how can it be the original lineup?" he asked out loud, "I'd heard that..."

"Guess he's not. Meet me in the lobby; we'll make some calls around for some possible candidates. We'll pay them with Mr. Rooney's credit card; there's still a few thousand dollars behind it that he's certainly not going to use. Go on," Ferris shooed a reluctant-looking Cameron off towards the lodge. He glanced around the property, lit up in the sunny light of mid afternoon. The other members of his party could be seen milling around the grounds, taking everything in. Allison was closest to his location, leaning against a tree and staring out across the lake. Ferris walked up to her. "Just taking it all in?" he asked her.

"Yep," she said, turning to him, "How's it going for tonight?"

"We'll have something set up in the next four hours, and then, we'll get this music festival started with a bang. So, in the meantime, since we have all afternoon till then, what shall we do to officially start things off?" he asked her, "Go for a spin on the lake? Relax with an afternoon swim? Start a little global thermonuclear war?"

"Ferris, really?" Allison raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, present circumstances being what they are, I felt it only right that I ask," Ferris said, turning sideways and winking. "Tell you what, give you and everyone else half hour or so to think it over while I make some calls around. Enjoy yourself till then."

He bustled back towards the hotel. Allison shook her head with a grin and made her way down to the main dock, where Melissa was sitting down on the far edge. "Enjoying it so far?" she asked the Lake Forest girl, sitting down next to her.

"So far," Melissa nodded, pulling off her sandals and dipping her feet into the lake, "It's good to get a real vacation with people my age for once."

"So you haven't gotten out much, I guess?" the brunette inquired.

"To be honest, Allison, I've really been a chronic homebody my whole life," the blonde confessed, looking regretful, "Oh, I've gone on vacations with Mom and Dad, and I've had sleepovers with my inner circle of friends, but I never really went to any dances and parties over the years. The stars and the planets had my attention all this time-was it too much of my attention?" she mused, shaking her head, "Did I pass up too much working on my rockets and watching everything spin through space? All that time I've isolated myself from everyone and everything...it's really a miracle I didn't fall into depression and start feeling suicidal earlier..."

"Are you feeling better now?" Allison asked her with a concerned expression.

"Oh much better," Melissa's face brightened, "I've been taking emotional therapy once a week for the last month, and I think it's helping. Of course, getting to hang out with all of you these last four months has really helped too; I can't tell you how much it's made me finally feel like I belong somewhere, finally. And of course," she broke into a huge smile, "It definitely helps that Brian's quite simply the sweetest boy I've ever known. I can see in his eyes how much he cares for me every time we have gotten together, and that makes me feel like I'm on top of the world. My only complaint is that he sometimes showers me with too many gifts trying to please me, but since I can tell he does it because he appreciates me so much, I really can't complain. So don't worry, I'm not even remotely suicidal anymore. These last few months since I met him and all of you have been the happiest of my whole life, easily."

"Good to know," Claire joined them on the edge of the dock. She unzipped her boots and dunked her own feet into the lake as well. "Ah, refreshing, especially after a long drive," she exhaled. "We're glad you could hang out with us all this time as well," she smiled at Melissa, "You're a good person, Melissa Winters, and you've brought out the best in Brian since you started dating him. At least the two of you will be lucky enough to be in college together. More than I can say..." her expression fell.

"You did invite Bender out there, didn't you?" Allison asked her.

"I did, but do you REALLY think he's going to drive cross country and stay, Allison?" the redhead raised her eyebrows, "I'm sure he'll try and drop in at some point, but stay? Not a chance. If he doesn't stay in Shermer, or go into the military, which I personally think would probably be best for him, I think he probably drifts across the country until he finds whatever would entice him to settle down. That's why I was hoping it would be Good Bender, the one I do have feelings for, that would come along on this trip, in case this would the be last time I'd see him-at least until a class reunion down the road, that is. So far, though, I'm worried that Good Bender stayed home for this trip," she shook her head hard, "I hope it's just that he got up on the wrong side of the bed, or his dad was too hard on him before he left..."

"I can only imagine how brutal it must be to have grown up in the kind of household it looks like he grew up in," Melissa shivered, "To be honest, I'm really amazed he didn't try to end his life before Brian or I tried to."

"Sometimes I am too, Melissa," Claire lamented, "I probably would have tried it myself if I'd been in his shoes. I've never actually been in his house since we started going together; besides being afraid for my safety if his dad was drunk, I'm scared of what else I might learn if I went in. While we all want honesty in our relationships, there's just some things about his backstory that I just don't want to know..."

She exhaled. "But anyway," she turned to the blonde with a brighter expression, "I have been looking forward to actually seeing some of your rockets in action. Brian got me built up to wanting to see a demonstration every time he crowed about how good they were."

"Well, I've brought a couple functional ones with me," Melissa told her, "And at least on a lake," she gestured at it, "There's lots of space to do it safely. Just have to angle it right and hope for the best."

"It'll be a great show, Melissa, don't worry about it," Brian had arrived himself now. He sat down between Claire and Melissa and put a warm arm around his girlfriend. "Just save some for the president to see for himself when he gets here," he told her, "I want him to be able to see how far you've come so he can sign you to NASA in a heartbeat."

"Wouldn't that be great?" Melissa mused with a smile, leaning into him, "All my dreams come true, just like that...if only..."

"Some dreams can come true just like that. Mine did when I met you," Brian smiled, rubbing her shoulder affectionately. "Feeling any better now, Claire?" he asked the redhead.

"Sort of, Brian. I'm just hoping, like I was telling everyone else, that Good Bender can treat me to the best week possible, since we'll probably never see each other again after this," Claire lamented again, "Once I go out to Arizona, I'm not coming back except for reunions every now and then. I want my last memories of him to be good ones-I hope the last memories of all of us together can be good ones, for all that we've done for each other emotionally over the last couple of months."

"I hope he comes through too, for your sake," Brian mumbled, "But don't worry, Claire, because if he doesn't, Andy and I will," he assured her, "Just let us know whatever you want if he's unable to do it and we'll do it for you. You're right, we need to end this on the best possible note."

"What about me?" Andrew came to the edge of the dock too.

"Just discussing some of the best ways we can make the best of this week," the brain told him.

"I have a few ideas," Andrew sat down behind Allison and hugged her from behind. "How's it going?" he asked her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Not bad," she turned to him with a smile.

"Want to do anything in particular later on tonight?" he asked her, "I've seen there's more than a few boats here the guests can take out on the lake."

"I'd like that, Andy," she nodded, "And if we can't get it in tonight, there's all week."

"I know. Yeah, I am going to miss you guys a lot in a few weeks," the wrestler looked sadly at the rest of the group, "At the beginning of the year, I'd never have thought I'd have said that, but it's been an honor getting to know each of you. So let's make the best of this, whatever Ferris can line up for..."

"Your attention please," Bender had finally arrived. "For you, Cherry my dear, a token of my respect," he handed Claire a fistful of bright blue flowers. "Very nice...but you yanked these up out of the ground behind the hotel, didn't you?" she asked him with raised eyebrows.

"So what if I did? My feelings for you are as bright as these flowers, and whatever I can get for you on this trip, I will," he declared.

"You didn't bring any money with you on this trip, did you?" Claire shook her head knowingly.

"Hey, Bueller said the president owed him a debt of gratitude; I took that to mean everything was on him up here!" Bender protested, "So if I...!"

"Never mind, never mind. Thank you, Bender," she interrupted him, taking a good look at the flowers, then turning to the other girls and mouthing, " _Oh well, it is the_ _thought that counts."_

"Say, while we're all here, how about a photo?" Melissa asked, digging out a camera, "Something for all of you to remember in college..."

"Great idea. OK, everyone together," Andrew waved the others closer. They all assumed sitting positions right by the end of the dock. "All right, on three," Melissa walked back a few steps and aimed the camera at them, "One, two, three..."

She pressed the button-at the exact moment Bender pulled Andrew close and kissed him. "Hey!" Andrew pushed him backwards off the dock into the lake-but then burst into laughter. "You just couldn't resist, couldn't you?" he bent down and teased the criminal, "That's the John Bender I know..."

Bender grabbed the wrestler's arm and pulled him into the lake as well. "Two can play at that game, Clark!" he shouted, but he was fighting laughter too.

"I want to play too!" Allison swan-dove into the lake after them with a large splash. Claire and Brian exchanged glanced, nodded, and jumped in after her simultaneously. "See, Bender, I take risks sometimes too!" the brain called at him, rolling onto his back and kicking jets of water in the criminal's direction.

"Wait for me!" Melissa set the camera down and dove in after the Shermer students. The six of them splashed about in the water, laughing. Back on dry land, Ferris, now finished with his business, watched them with a knowing smile. "Yep, these are the moments you really treasure," he looked over his shoulder, as if sharing the experience with someone else, "Seeing true friendship play itself out in a moment of pure, unadulterated fun. They'll remember this fondly for years to come, and I hope you will too. Because if it can get this good for all of them, there's no reason it can't get just as good between you and anyone different from you that you wouldn't think of being friends with. Well, not much more to see here at the moment, folks, so we might as well skip ahead now..."


	4. The Kids in America

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The previously established Hughesian character making a cameo here is trademarked by Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation. Moving on:

* * *

"So you're the Flashbacks?" a relieved Wally greeted the approaching men carrying numerous musical instruments backstage at the pavilion on the far end of the lake, "You don't know how glad I am you guys were able to make it and fill in."

"Glad to help," the band's leader, clutching a guitar, shook his hand. "Mark Radcliffe's the name. Who are we working with?"

"Us," Ferris and his cohorts stepped forward from around the corner. "You?" Radcliffe frowned, "You don't look like a..."

"Trust me, my friend, we'll help you deliver a good show," Ferris assured him, "And we'll arrange for you and your band to be paid good." He leaned close to Cameron and whispered, "About five hundred off of Mr. Rooney's credit card ought to do it."

"So you know, Ferris, he'll be really mad if he ever gets out of jail," Cameron reminded him with a shiver.

"Which won't be for at least another fifty years, so no need to worry," Ferris whispered back. "Here's a few of the ideas we have in mind we'd like to play," he handed Radcliffe a piece of paper, "You usually cover these?"

"Hmm...you're a really big 80s fan, it looks like," Radcliffe mused, "But yeah, we can handle all this. All right guys, let's go warm up," he told the rest of his band. The men carried their instruments out onto the stage. "Good find, kid," Wally shook Ferris's hand, "I called the next act up; they should be here about fifteen minutes ahead of when they were originally going to come, so you'd only need to sing about four or five songs before they can take over."

"But if we're popular enough, can we come back again?" Sloane asked him.

"Guess so, especially if we have any more last minute cancellations. Well, on with the show," Wally sauntered out onto the stage to get the crowd's attention. "OK, guys, this is it," Ferris pulled the other boys close, "If you're all worried, don't be; I'll do most of the heavy lifting here since I'm familiar with these sorts of things..."

"Yeah, I know, because God forbid Ferris Bueller isn't the center of attention every single minute of his life...!" Bender grumbled.

"Not so at all, John, not so at all," Ferris gave him another faux hurt look, "For example, I could have taken a lot of credit for bringing down Bob Tannen, but in the end, I decided other people should have it more, such as assistant deputy director of media relations-and now Senator-Jim Hobor, since he was a good man who deserved a higher position in Washington. If I find people deserving, I give them the credit they deserve-such as now, when I'm sharing the moment with all of you guys."

"And we do appreciate it, Ferris," Brian commended him, "But so you know, I'm not really the high-energy singer these songs call for..."

"Just do the best you can, Bri; all you have to do is try," Ferris assured him, "Any other questions?"

"Again, just don't embarrass me out there, Bueller," Bender cautioned him.

"Don't worry about it, John. In fact I...hold that thought, here we go," Ferris cut himself off as Wally finished giving his opening spiel on stage: "...present to you the sounds of Flashbacks, as performed by a group of young people who have said they call themselves The Kids in America. Give them a big hand if you will."

A big hand did in fact greet Ferris as he walked out on stage. "Good evening Lake Olafsson!" he declared grandly to the assembled crowd, which appeared to number a little over a hundred audience members in all, "I'm Ferris Bueller, and you're all not, and on behalf of the Flashbacks," he gestured respectfully at the band, "We welcome you to the sixth annual Lake Olafsson Summer Concert Series. I hope you've all been enjoying your time here in the North Woods, and we hope to make it better for you tonight with a good selection of some of the best music I know. And so, since it's a hot August night, let's start with a seminal song of summer, namely, this!"

He waved for Radcliffe to cue the band, then belted out as loud as he could, with his best Springsteen voice, "Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town!" Confused silence greeted him. "Just kidding with you, everyone," he told them, "Now for some real sounds of summer. Take it away for real!" he called to the musicians, and launched into the real song: "Aruba, Jamaica-home of course the to greatest bobsledders in the world-" he briefly paused to look over his shoulder and wink before continuing, "oooh, I wanna take ya. Bermuda, Bahamas, come on pretty mama. Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go, Jamaica, off the Florida Keys. There's a place called Kokomo. That's where you want to go to get away from it all. Bodies in the sand, tropical drink melting in your hand. We'll be falling in love to the rhythm of the steel drum band, down in Kokomo...!"

He waved to the rest of the boys, who rushed to the center of the stage with him and jumped straight into the refrain. The crowd seemed to be impressed, Ferris noted, as they immediately jumped up and started clapping and singing along to the music. As the song continued, he popped a few impressive dance moves to even louder cheers. Better, he noted, the others more than held their own as his backup singers (although Cameron seemed slightly off key, but not enough to ruin the music). Sustained applause greeted them at the end. "Thank you, thank you, you're great audience," he commended them, "And now, I'd like to present a quartet of lovely ladies who have their own selection of years gone by to present for you. Girls, show them what you know," he called to the four of them, finishing up a conference in the wings. They quickly walked on stage (excepting Melissa, who took a few nervous steps out before stopping at the sight of the crowd, and had to be gently led out by Allison) and whispered their song selection to the musicians. "All right, give me a beat!" Sloane then shouted out loud to the band, who dove straight into the familiar song. She slid dramatically to the microphone. "Cant seem to get my mind off of you. Back here at home, there's nothing to do. Now that I'm away, I wished I'd stayed, Tomorrow's a day of mine that you won't be in..." she belted out the opening lines with conviction before rapidly handing the microphone off to Claire to continue the song. "Good choice," Cameron nodded towards them all as he and the other boys exited the stage, "At least it keeps a theme going..."

"You know whose song this should really be the theme for? Mr. Griswold," Andrew pointed out with a chuckle, "Every summer he goes off on a vacation, and every time it's over he comes limping back like he came through a war. This fits him like a glove."

"Oh definitely. Well, in the name of chivalry, we'll let them do another one before we go back on; any suggestions?" Ferris posed to them.

"Well...to show Bender further that I can rebel when I think it's right, how about...?" Brian waved them all close and whispered out a suggestion of his own. Bender in fact let out a cheer. "You're not brilliant for nothing, Johnson," he commended the brain, slapping him a little too hard on the back, "If Dick were here, I'd have you sing it to his face and let him know you're not going to take it from him anymore. In fact, too bad he can't be here to take this."

"What are you talking about!? I hope I never see the man again as long as I live," Cameron shuddered, "He scared me almost as much as Rooney did."

"Well none of us need to worry; right now, Mr. Vernon's safely back in the Chicago area, thinking over the tragic waste his life his life's become...oh yeah, you've got it, ladies, show me it all!" Ferris shouted encouragement to the girls on stage as they all leaned together to sing out, "Vacation, all I ever wanted. Vacation, had to get away. Vacation, meant to be spent alone." "We've got a winner," he told the rest of his party, "And like I said, no need to worry; neither Mr. Vernon nor Mr. Rooney will ever bother us again."

* * *

"Thanks for the lift," Vernon thanked the pickup truck drive letting him and Rooney off near the entrance to Lake Olafsson. "So now what, Ed?" he asked his partner.

"Now we may have a problem, Richard," Rooney frowned, noticing the Secret Service checkpoint right in front of them, "Something's going on here, and we might not be able to walk right in..."

"You there, identify yourselves and your purpose for being here," one of the Secret Service agents at the checkpoint called to them.

"Oh, uh, we're just, uh, um, we, uh, we came up here for a hike, that's all," Rooney rambled quickly, "We, uh, we're staying with friends who'll be..."

"Sorry gentlemen, but no one comes in here with either a prior cabin reservation or a government pass this week," another agent shook his head, "Not with the president coming here tomorrow for a summit. So if you don't have either, we'll have to ask you to be on your way from here."

"Um, well, uh, thanks for that advice. We'll, uh, see if we can get in touch with some people and see what we can do," Rooney told him, waving Vernon to follow him away from the checkpoint. "Just our luck!" he muttered in disgust, "As if Matthew Simmons didn't ruin my life enough in Washington by demanding the prosecutors throw the book at me even though I had no intention of killing his daughter when I chased after Ferris, now he does it again! How are we supposed to get anywhere near them now!?"

"I don't know, Ed, you tell me," Vernon snarled sarcastically, "This was all your idea to come up here and do this. So give me a brilliant out if..."

He stopped at the sound of a familiar song pounding from across the lake. "Manilow..." he growled, a scowl spreading on his face, "If John Bender did this to...!"

"Listen," Rooney interrupted, holding up his hand. Sure enough, Ferris's voice could be clearly heard singing slightly different lyrics to the tune: "His name was Richard, he was a teacher, but that was months and months ago, when he used to run the show. Now we know freedom, freedom from Richard. Still in Barry's clothes he used to wear, raindrops falling in his hair. He lays on his behind, and drinks himself half blind. He lost his job and he lost his mojo, now he's lost his mind, at the Copa, Copacabana, the hottest spot north of Havana..."

"You're not getting away with this, John Bender!" the former superintendent shouted angrily in the direction of the lake, "No one mocks Richard P. Vernon without paying a price, and the same goes for you too, Ferris Bueller!"

"As we said, if you two don't have proper reason to be here, you need to leave," the lead agent at the checkpoint shouted at them again.

"All right, we'll go-I mean, thanks for your time, sir, we'll be on our way," Rooney called back. "Come on," he waved Vernon back down the road.

"What are we doing now, Ed!?" his former superior asked wearily, "I want to eat...!"

"We will, we will! We're just going to circle through the woods and see exactly where their perimeter is! When we know that, we'll know where to find weak spots to try and break in through!"

* * *

"We've been walking in the pitch darkness for twenty minutes now, Ed, without any sign of any agents or any civilization, and let me wager that you don't have a damn clue where we're going!?" Vernon complained out loud twenty minutes later, stumbling over an unseen tree root deep in the woods.

"Ah quit your bellyaching!" Rooney snapped at him, "No pain, no gain! It's worth it to teach them all a good hard lesson!"

"I don't know why I listen to you on all these things...!" the former superintendent growled under his breath.

"Hold your water, look, there's a cabin up there," Rooney pointed straight ahead, where a light could be seen shining in a window, "If you really need a rest that bad, we'll see if they've got food, and if we can shack up with them for the night..."

"Hold it, Ed, do you hear cars?" Vernon interrupted him, staring at the rise to their right. Seconds later, the blinding glare of scores of headlights made both men squint their eyes shut and move behind the nearest tree. They glanced out to see about eight or nine cars and trucks skidding to stops in the middle of the woods. "Fall out and line up!" barked a stern voice. What looked like about fifty or sixty men dressed in military fatigues, as the former educators could see in the glow of the headlights, piled out of the vehicles and formed a straight line. The apparent leader of the platoon, a thin weasel-like man with glasses and a short red beard, paced back in forth in front of the line. "Good, all present and accounted for," he declared, satisfied. "All right men," he instructed his command, "We stand now on the brink of a momentous moment in world history. If we do our duty well in our mission, we can secure freedom for the millions of oppressed Americans suffering under the thumb of admiralty law forced on us by the Washington puppets of the Jew-led one world government. It won't be easy, but patriots everywhere are counting on us to free them from tyranny. For too long, America has been overrun by underserving parasites, not just the Jews, but also wetbacks, spooks, and other freeloaders. It's time we take our country back, and by God's grace, we will...!"

"What the hell are these guys going on about!?" Vernon muttered under his breath to his colleague.

"I don't know, Richard; I think the loony bin just got broken open," Rooney muttered back, "We'd better head on our way and..."

Suddenly a strong set of hands grabbed each man and hauled him off his feet. "Hey, let go of us, you big ape!" Rooney bellowed at the huge bearded man in fatigues of his own that was holding the two of them up. This man paid him no heed and dragged them over to the troops. "Unauthorized eavesdroppers, sir," he told the commander.

"We didn't hear anything!" Vernon protested, "So tell this baboon to...!"

"You'll kindly shut your mouth right now," the commander thrust an M1 in his face to silence him, "I am on a vital mission for oppressed Americans everywhere, and it cannot be compromised by anyone."

"And who do you think you are anyway, mister!?" Rooney demanded.

"Captain Hank O'Donoghue, commanding officer, Midwest Patriots Freedom Army," the commander introduced himself, "Dedicated to the mission of freeing enslaved Americans from the Jew-led deep state foisted on us by foreign powers and abetted by a corrupt government that dares to make its own citizens slaves."

"Sorry I asked...ow, hey, watch it!" Rooney bellowed as the thug behind him tightened his grip on his neck.

"Break their necks if they try and wreck our mission, Moose," O'Donoghue ordered his top thug, "All right men, lock and load bump stocks and move out," he ordered his command, "First phase is to secure headquarters for our operation, which shall be that cabin over yonder," he pointed to the one Rooney had noticed earlier. The men marched quickly and quietly towards it, Moose shoving Vernon and Rooney along with them. O'Donoghue pounded hard on the cabin door once he'd reached it. "Can I help you?" a man hesitantly stuck his head out.

"Captain Hank O'Donoghue, commanding officer, Midwestern Patriots Freedom Army," the commander repeated his spiel, "In the name of the free American people, you are hereby ordered to peaceably turn over this cabin to us; failure to do so will result in..."

"Go away, mister; I'm playing Parcheesi with my kids!" the man growled, gesturing to his wife and children on the cabin floor.

"You have ten seconds to comply, or you will pay the penalty," O'Donoghue warned him, hefting his M1 and taking aim at the man, who turned pale. "Look, please, I don't want any trouble, whoever, you are!" he pleaded with the militant leader, "Who are you that you're...!?"

"Three, two, one," without flinching in the slightest, O'Donoghue fired point blank into the man's head, sending him crumpling to the floor to the horrified screams of his family. "Secure the cabin!" he ordered his men, who charged inside, grabbed the rest of the family, and hauled them out the back door. O'Donoghue waved for Moose to toss Vernon and Rooney onto the sofa. "All right, I want clear answers: who are you, and are you spying for Matthew Simmons!?" he growled at them.

"My name's Richard Vernon, he's Ed Rooney, and we're not spying for anyone!" the former superintendent said, exacerbated, "We never even heard of you people until you drove right up to us back there!"

"And why should I believe that?" O'Donoghue drew a very large combat knife and held it right in Vernon's face, "Government operatives are masters of lying and trying to deflect their true intentions..."

"I'm telling you, we're just two former teachers from Shermer, Illinois, and we're only up here because we want to get even with some punk kids who ruined our careers!" Rooney shouted at him, "So if you'll let us go on our merry way, we can take care of that...!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, gentlemen, as this mission demands absolute secrecy. Therefore, you have only two options: either you willingly join we true patriots and help us free the millions of enslaved Americans, or, you can join him," O'Donoghue pointed contemptuously at his recent victim's body on the floor.

"Now just a minute...!" Vernon started to yell.

"All right, we'll join you," Rooney cut in, shaking O'Donoghue's hand, "Tell us what you want us to do, and we'll do it. And promise you won't kill us if we do?"

"Well, if you two losers do a good enough job, I'm sure...Sergeant," O'Donoghue waved down a passing militant, "I'm authorizing you, liquidate the prisoners outside. We can't take any risks on them exposing us."

"Hank, they're a woman and children," the militant protested, "We can't..."

"You have your orders, Sergeant!" O'Donoghue barked angrily at him, "Now carry them out!"

"Hank, I...I can't... can't someone else handle it...!?"

"OK, OK, I understand," O'Donoghue slowly got to his feet-then grabbed his underling across the face and slashed hard across his throat, sending his body crumpling to the floor as well. "You see that, all of you!?" he screamed to the rest of his command inside the cabin, "This is what happens to everyone who betrays free Americans and refuses to follow orders! Now is anyone else here willing to be insubordinate like him!?"

Everyone else shook their heads hard. "Good! Give me that!" O'Donoghue seized a very large AK-47 off another militant and stormed towards the back door, muttering out loud, "If you want anything done right in this world, you have to do it yourself...!" "Ed, what are you doing...!?" Vernon mumbled under his breath to Rooney once the militia leader had left the room, "That guy's a certified nut job!"

"Of course he is; all these people are lunatics," Rooney mumbled back, "The federal government can't get through a single day's budget debate without turning on itself, so how can it possibly craft a unified plan of oppression? But it's better to work with these guys than end up in a shallow grave, Richard. And look at this firepower," he eyed some of the men's weapons, "If we can get close to those brats with some of this..."

"I don't like this, Ed...!"

"Too late now, we're in this whether we like it or not, Richard," Rooney nonetheless shuddered as a heavy barrage of gunfire rang out outside. Moments later, O'Donoghue stomped back in, his uniform soaked with blood. "All right, now that that's taken care of, establish observation posts and sniper nests in the immediate area," he ordered his command, "Set up perimeters; shoot anyone else who gets close."

He approached the two former educators again. "So you are in, you said?" he asked them.

"Yes, Captain, we are in," Rooney shook his hand, "So, tell us what the mission is, and how we can help?"

"Our mission is simple: assassinate Matthew Simmons and free Americans from the slavery forced on them ever since common law was replaced with admiralty law following this country's removal from the gold standard as ordered by the international Jewish terror syndicate that has lorded over this country by forcing open borders upon the free men and women of this country and allowing illegal foreigners to swarm in and take jobs from hard-working Americans," O'Donoghue ranted furiously, "A new declaration of independence must be made to save this country, and that declaration must be in blood, to repay the blood spilled in illegal foreign wars bankrolled by the Jews, as well as by the Arabs, which, on a personal note, caused this to me..." he lifted up his pant leg to show he had a prosthetic leg, "...courtesy of an IED that exploded near my convoy in Fallujah, a permanent reminder of how the Jews and Arabs play games with people's lives for more and more money."

"OOOOOOkay," Rooney said slowly. "And how will we do that?"

"Simmons will be arriving here tomorrow. It is our intention to free America by shedding his blood, which will inspire other American patriots across this great country to rise up and take it back," O'Donoghue declared, "We have a man on the inside, but he's set in a single position and can't accurately map out the lake's layout inside the Secret Service perimeter. That's where you gentlemen may come in handy," he leaned towards them, "I'm sending you in undercover with cameras; photograph every location of strategic value. That, combined with knowledge of Simmons' schedule once we obtain that, will give us an idea of the best time and place to strike."

"OK, then, consider it done. And in exchange, you'll give us any help we might need on our mission to get justice?" Rooney asked him.

"Don't endanger this mission, and perhaps we will," O'Donoghue offered a token yes.

"All right, commander, you've got yourself a deal. Just tell us what exactly you want us to do, and how you want us to do it..."

* * *

"...oooooh, if you leave, don't look back. Don't look baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccckk!" Ferris, unaware of what was going on miles away, finished off the last song of his set, this time accompanied by everyone in his group, to another large ovation. He glanced to the wings and saw the next band ready to go. "Well, everyone, that'll be all for us tonight," he told the crowd, "Maybe we'll be back tomorrow night or another time this week, but now it's time to turn these proceedings over to the next act, so ladies and gentlemen, it's time to polka with the one, the only, the Kenosha Kickers!"

Polite applause greeted a group of middle-aged men in yellow jackets that came trudging out onto the stage. "Well, I'm not sure if we can top that, but we'll sure try," the leader, a heavyset man clutching a clarinet, took the microphone from Ferris, and gave him a supportive high five. "Good evening Lake Olafsson; I'm Gus Polinski, I'm the Polka King of the Midwest, and we're the Kenosha Kickers, and we're so glad to be here for this festival," he greeted the audience warmly, "And because I think you're such a good crowd, everyone here's going to get, as a token of our respect, a newly pressed copy of our latest album, Straight Outta Sheboygan," he held up a copy of the record, "So now, let's start the party together; everyone get up and do the Polka Twist!"

He pumped his fist downward, put his clarinet to his lips and started leading his band into a high-energy polka tune. "Great job, everyone, I think we won them over good," Ferris commended the other teens, high fiving them all off stage.

"I wouldn't mind doing this again, Ferris," Claire told him, unable to suppress a yawn. "But now, I think it's time for bed, unfortunately."

"We might as well turn in, Ferris; it's quarter to eleven, and I've been up since four," Cameron added, yawning himself.

"Understood. Oh well, there's only so many hours in each day. Might as well head on back to the lodge, then," Ferris led the way out from backstage, "I guess you all had a good day?" he asked his guests.

"Sure did, Ferris," Andrew gave him a thumbs-up, "And I guess that's an omen it's going to be a good week."

"You know it, Andy. Nothing could possibly bring this week down..."


	5. Enter the President

"I have never been so humiliated in all my life...!" Vernon muttered in disgust under his breath, trudging along the shores of Lake Olafsson the following morning in a driving rainstorm.

"Well how you think I feel, Richard; I have to wear a bra for this!" Rooney growled, gesturing with contempt at the old woman disguise the militants had forced him into. Next to him, Vernon didn't look much more dignified in the old man disguise he was wearing. "And it wasn't a picnic hanging on to the bottom of that garbage truck to sneak in here either," he continued griping.

"Serves you right for insisting we had to work with those psychopaths!" the former superintendent glowered at him.

"Oh well, we're inside the checkpoints now, so that's the important thing. Once we locate and take care of those brats, we can call the Secret Service and turn those clowns in to them-if we're lucky, maybe we can even set it up so they go down for what we do. In the meantime, start snapping away," Rooney hefted a camera and started taking pictures of various buildings, "I don't have a damn clue exactly what he wants, so let's go high quantity here. In the meantime, keep an eye out for those kids; if they did get admitted to this lake last night, they're bound to be somewhere in here."

* * *

"I can guess you're really not a pro with this," Ferris chided Bender, unwinding the criminal's poorly made tie inside their suite.

"No, I'm not, Bueller; I'm not a suit and tie person. And I'd really prefer not to wear this...!" Bender protested.

"Yeah, we know, Bender; you'd probably prefer to go in there buck naked to spite everyone," Andrew grumbled from the other end of the suite's dining room, where was adjusting his own tie.

"And you know why, Clark? Because they're all corrupt analheads who deserve to be taken down a peg or two. Somebody has to..."

"Hold still, hold still," Ferris ordered him, twisting the tie into place, "There, now you're pretty as a Picasso."

"Go to hell, Bueller," Bender told him off.

"Thank you, I appreciate that you care," Ferris grinned and pretended to tip a cap in the criminal's direction. "Sloane my dear, you're looking even lovelier than ever," he walked over to the table in the center of the dining room, where Claire was applying makeup to his girlfriend.

"Thank you," Sloane held up a hand for Claire to hold on for a moment before leaning over and kissing Ferris. "I do feel good with this," she commended the redhead, "Have you ever thought of a career in Hollywood or TV?"

"I'm leaving open all the doors once I head out west, Sloane. If that looks like the best option, maybe I'll take it," Claire said, closing up her makeup case. "You're all set now," she told Sloane, putting the case in her purse and slipping on a pair of white arm-length gloves.

"OK. How do I look?" Sloane asked Ferris, spinning grandly in a circle for him.

"Like the queen of the world," Ferris praised her, pulling her in for another kiss. "You look good too," he told Allison, entering the kitchen in a black dress.

"Thanks. I don't wear this too often, but I think this qualifies," she said, joining her boyfriend at the window. "Any sign of them yet?" she asked.

"Nope, but shouldn't be too much longer," Andrew checked his watch. "You look great," he told her, pulling her into a warm hug, "Even better than on prom night..."

"You dolt, you should have taken the extra spin!" came Cameron's frustrated shout from the living room. Grinning, Ferris bustled out of the kitchen and into the living room, where his best friend, already dressed in his own suit and tie, was seated on the sofa with Brian and Melissa-also formally dressed-watching a rerun of Press Your Luck. "Another short-sighted contestant blew the chance to win?" he asked knowingly.

"The water bike wasn't enough to make up the difference; now the next lady up can just blow right past him if she spins it right," Cameron gestured at the screen, where contestant number two was about to stop the game board.

"I see. Well, if it was me, I'd...oh, hold that thought for a moment: 'Who would ever hurt a Whammy? Who would ever want...OOOOOWWWWW!'" Ferris moonwalked backwards and then conked himself on the head at the exact moment the Boy George Whammy on the TV screen got hammered. "And they even picked my favorite one to use too," he remarked.

"I always liked the Beatles one the best," Brian informed him. "How about you?" he asked his girlfriend.

"Probably the one where he actually brings out the 'big buck,'" Melissa said, turning to the table next to the sofa and nervously rubbing the rolled up rocket designs she'd brought with her. "Hey, don't be worried," Brian assured her gently, patting her hand, "You've got great designs; President Simmons is bound to love them."

"I..I hope so, but it's just...he is the president after all," she gulped, "If I strike out with him..."

"You've got nothing to worry about, Melissa," he took both her hands, "And I'll be right there behind you the whole time; I'll make sure he passes them on to people at NASA somehow. You deserve it."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," she smiled warmly at him. "Uh oh, Whammy number three," she shook her head at the screen, where the contestant had hit another Whammy.

"I want to get a picture of you losing your money. Say cheese!" Ferris echoed this Whammy's lines out loud, then pretended to press a button and staggered around as if blinded by the flash, prompting everyone in the room to break into laughter. "Very amusing, Ferris," Cameron rose up and walked over to the window. "Still no sign of them?" he asked.

"Nope, but as Andy just said, shouldn't be too much longer," Ferris put his arm on his friend's shoulder, "You ready to see her again?"

"Have been since we parted ways back in June. I just hope she still...that it wasn't just all a dream," Cameron confessed, "That she still remembers me as fondly as she did then..."

"Cam, I could see it in her eyes; you gave a spark to her life that she didn't have before we got to Washington. It'll be the same, so don't fret over it. In no more than ten more minutes or so, she'll be in your arms again."

"That, that would be nice," Cameron nodded, forcing a small smile. "Still," he mused, trudging back to the sofa, "I hope they could hold off for another half hour; Sale of the Century's up next, and I always like to watch that. Unless it's an episode from the part of the run with the Winner's Big Money Game," he frowned, "I always hated that bonus round."

"It wasn't really a bad bonus game in and of itself; it was just the wrong fit for Sale," Brian argued, "Maybe the best option would have been something that combined the original dollar tiered bonus prize structure with the Winners' Board; that would have fit the theme with..."

"Hold that thought; I do believe I hear sirens," Ferris bustled to the window again. "Ladies and gentlemen, the president is entering the building," he announced out loud, seeing a long motorcade accompanied by police cars and motorcycles starting to pull up to the hotel's front entrance. "Time to head on down to the dining room and greet our old mutual friend."

* * *

"The honorable United States Ambassador to the United Nations, Patrick J. O'Rourke...the honorable Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Christopher J. Miller, United States Marine Corps...the honorable Secretary of State of the United States, Robert K. Hoffman...the honorable President Pro Tempore of the United States Senate, Senator Henry N. Beard..." the official presidential coordinator announced the entry of various government officials into the hotel's ballroom, which was now set up for a banquet. At the back of the room, Ferris rocked slowly back and forth on his heels in anticipation-in contrast to Cameron rocking more wildly from side to side next to him. "Relax, Cam, I said everything's going to be fine," he took Cameron by the shoulder and pulled him to a stop.

"Her mother's going to be with her, and she was out of town when we were in Washington; what if I give her the bad impression!?" Cameron continued to vent his neuroses, "She always looked like a high-handed woman on TV; what if she is in real...?"

"Cameron, listen," Sloane turned his head towards her, "Natalie had to have told her everything that went down. How could she not like you too?"

"Um, well..."

"And we kept her in the White House too; certainly every First Lady has to appreciate that. Get ready, they're coming in very soon..." Ferris took a deep breath, his eyes zeroing in on the ballroom door as the introductions continued: "...the honorable Speaker of the United States House of Representatives, Bruce D. Begelman...the honorable Vice President of the United States, Douglas C. Kenney...His Eminence Emir Zaid I of the Emirate of Kuwait...ladies and gentlemen," he paused dramatically as "Hail to the Chief" started playing, "The President of the United States of America, Matthew S. Simmons, accompanied by First Lady Nancy L. Simmons and First Daughter Natalie J. Simmons."

"Hello old friend, it's been a while," Ferris mused with a grin at the president entering the ballroom. He instinctively stepped behind Cameron, wanting his friend to have the honor of being seen first. And as the crowds slowly cleared in front of them, he indeed was seen by another old friend. "Cameron!" came an excited cry from across the dining room. In a blur, Natalie Simmons rushed towards him and all but jumped into his arms. "Oh I'm so glad you could come!" she told him happily, planting a kiss on his cheek, "Life in Washington hasn't been the same since you were there...Ferris, Sloane, so good to see you two again too," she hugged each of them in turn, "How's it been going?"

"Not bad, not bad," Sloane told her, "I'll be staying behind while everyone else goes off to college, unfortunately, but we've made the best of what time we have had left together."

"Very good. I see you did bring a couple of people along," Natalie took note of the other teens with them, "I kind of remember seeing a couple of you when your class dropped in at the White House. Come on, Mom and Dad want to say hello."

She waved them through a sea of government officials and diplomats, who had watched the impromptu reunion from June with amazed and impressed looks. At the head of the dining room, the president and First Lady stood with a bearded Arabic man in a headdress and robe. "Dad, you remember Cameron and his friends; Mom, this is Cameron Frye, he's the one I've been telling you about," she introduced him to her mother, a blonde-haired woman in a red dress.

"So you're Cameron? It's nice to meet you," Mrs. Simmons smiled at him, shaking his hand, "Natalie hasn't stopped talking about you all summer. I can't thank you enough for pulling her out of the Potomac after she crashed."

"Uh, glad to help, Mrs. Simmons. Natalie is, uh, very beautiful and very nice, and, um, I'm glad to have been able to become good friends with her," Cameron mumbled nervously.

"Oh he's being modest, Mrs. President; Cameron fell in love with Natalie the first time he saw her on TV," Ferris added, making Cameron shift about, embarrassed, "To have won her heart was the greatest achievement of his life."

"I see, and you are...?"

"Oh yes, I almost forgot. I'm Ferris Bueller, and Cameron and I have been inseparable best friends for the last eight years, much like Abbott and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, Frosty and Karen," Ferris explained, shaking her hand. "And our mutual friend, the loveliest girl in all of America, Sloane Petersen," he took her hand and led her forward.

"Good to see you three again," the president said, shaking Sloane's hand, "I'd like you all to meet Emir Zaid of Kuwait, he's my special guest for this summit," he introduced his Arabic guest, "I invited the emir here to discuss a plan I have for the Middle East, so you'll be seeing a lot more of him this week."

"Pleasure to meet you," Ferris shook the emir's hand, "We're so glad you could come to see exactly what America looks like. And despite what you may sometimes see on the news, there's still a lot of good people in the United States willing to do good in the world, and you can count us among them."

"Very good to meet you Ferris Bueller...rather unique name for an American..." the emir mused.

"He's a unique person, your Highness. Claire Standish, Mr. President," the wealthy girl stepped forward to shake his hand.

"I think I remember seeing you around the White House back in June. Standish..." Simmons' brow furled, "Didn't a Louis Standish from Chicago give a big donation to Senator Wofford in the Illinois primary last election to try and beat me?"

"Um...yeah, that's my father," Claire admitted, embarrassed, "But I thought he made a mistake supporting Senator Wofford, and I would have voted for you if I'd been old enough, Mr. President," she added quickly.

"Well, I appreciate it," the president told her with an amused grin, "Who else came with you...?"

"Andrew Clark, good to meet you, sir," the wrestler stepped forward to greet him next.

"Good to meet you," Simmons shook his hand as well, "What will you be doing now that you've graduated?"

"Um, well, I've committed to Iowa State, Mr. President; I've been an all-state wrestler throughout high school, and since I know they have a good tradition..."

"Ah, so you wrestle?" the emir exclaimed, "How nice; my nephew Ahmed is a wrestler too; he hopes to be in the next Olympics. I brought him along on this trip; perhaps the two of you would care to practice with each other during the week?"

"Um..." Andrew's expression got worried, "Well, uh, I'll think about it, your Highness."

"All right then, this will be fun," the emir rubbed his hands as if he took that to be a yes. Melissa was next in line, but she remained frozen in place, staring worriedly at the First Family. Brian patted her gently on the back and whispered in her ear, _"It's all right, I'm here. You can do this_." Melissa nodded softly and forced herself forward, Brian trailing supportively behind her. "Um, good to see you, Mr. President, I'm, um, Melissa Winters, I'm from Lake Forest Central High School, we've won the Chicago area academic competition your grandfather gave the funds to start ten years in a row now..." she rambled out without making eye contact with him.

"Is that so? Well, that's very impressive; I may have moved to Michigan after college, but I've tried to keep track of that competition," the president commended her, "My grandfather always believed that daring kids to aim high in the classrooms would raise up the whole country. And what's that you've got there?" he noticed her designs in her hands.

"I'm, uh, I've wanted to design rockets most of my life, I brought a few designs and, um, a couple of working models if you'd like to take a look and pass them on to NASA...in fact, if next year's budget isn't set yet, could you add funding to NASA? We can do so much more in space if we had more of a cash flow to it..."

"Rocket designer, huh?" the president was visibly impressed, "You really committed yourself to something big there, young lady. Well, I'll have to talk to Mr. Begelman and Mr. Beard about NASA funding, and it'll really be up to them," he pointed to the Speaker of the House and President Pro Tempore a few feet away, "But I'd be glad to take a look at some of your designs when I get some free time."

"Th-Thank you, sir," Melissa forced a smile and quickly bustled away. "Brian Johnson, Mr. President; like everyone else, it's good to meet you-again, kind of," Brian shook his hand next, "I met Melissa at the last Simmons competition; I want to work on her rockets with her. So if we could increase space funding like she said, I think it'll be a big plus for the country, as well as the cause of science."

"You interested in science, young man?"

"Very much so, sir; it's been one of my best subjects for years."

"It's good to know the educational system in this country can still turn out fine students who can try hard," the president smiled, "And who's next?"

"Allison Reynolds, Mr. President," she greeted him next, "Um, I'm wondering if there was something I could ask of you...it's not for me, and I'm not sure you would be able to do anything about it, but..."

"Well, what would you like?"

"Well, you see, lately I've been thinking..." Allison took a deep breath, "Back home in Shermer, one of my best friends was a girl named Andie Walsh; we lived a few blocks down from each other, so we did end up hanging out together a lot. Anyway, her..." she lowered her head, "her mother ran out on the family when she was younger; they haven't heard from her since. Now most of the time, she could care less about the woman-she's upset that she and her father were dumped like that, and I can't really blame her-but every now and then, I see what's clearly pain in her eyes over being abandoned, and, well, I'd like to do something for her, to say thank you to her for knowing her all these years, to at least give her closure if not exactly a happy ending..."

"You'd like me to authorize a national search for her mother?" the president raised his eyebrows.

"I.. I guess so, Mr. President. There's not really that much to go on-Andie and her father have no idea where she might have run off to, and..."

"Well, again, I'll see what I can do. Such a selfless request for a friend like this should be at least taken up, right Nancy?" Simmons asked his wife, who shook off a surprised expression of sorts to exclaim, "Oh yes, yes, certainly. It's good that people still care in this country."

"Indeed. And who have we here now? I don't remember seeing you around back in June," the president turned to Bender, who was last in line. "Don't do anything stupid, John..." Ferris hissed softly under his breath. He crossed his fingers nervously as Bender strode forward towards the president with a cocky expression. "I'm Mike Teevee. WHAM! You're dead!" he thumbed Simmons hard in the chest, making him double over. All the Secret Service agents in the immediate vicinity started rushing forward. "It's all right, guys, it's all right!" Ferris jumped quickly in front of Bender, "John here was just playing a little joke, that's all, just an innocent joke."

He dragged Bender sideways by the tie. "Nicely handled, Veruca...!" he muttered sarcastically in Bender's ear.

"Told you I don't like the man, Willy!" Bender muttered back. "What!?" he snapped at the rest of their group, who were all giving him stern, disapproving scowls, "I gave you all fair warning...!"

"Well, I'm OK, everyone," the president picked up a microphone, rubbing his chest, "So, now that you're all here, let's eat."

He led his wife and daughter to the large round table at the head of the room. "Sit next to me, Cameron," Natalie eagerly gestured at the seat next to hers. Cameron obligingly plopped into it, his classmates filling in all around the table, at which the emir, the vice president, and the Speaker of the House also sat down at. The latter frowned deeply at the teens. "Mr. President, with all due respect, I don't see how these children earned so high a position at this dinner..." he protested.

"They have earned it, Bruce," the president told him, giving Ferris an approving wink, "So, now that you're all here," he addressed the entire table as the waiters started bringing out the appetizers, "I want to tell all of you first, before I make it official later in the week, that I've done a lot of thinking lately, and, well, the more I thought about it, it seemed more and more right. I've decided I'm not going to seek a second term next year."

More than a few utensils clattered to the table in surprise, including that of the First Lady's. "Matthew, are you sure!?" she asked him, "We came to Washington hoping to serve two full terms, and..."

"Nancy," the president took her by the hand with a somber expression, "Natalie almost drowned in June, and we weren't there to do anything about it. We both missed out on her birthday-we've missed too much over the last eleven years in the governor's office in Lansing and now in Washington. We need to change that before it's too late. We had a good run in the Oval Office, but in this country, power must pass on, especially if it means family comes first. Am I right?"

"Well...I guess..." Mrs. Simmons nodded slowly, "I think..."

"I appreciate it, Dad," Natalie took her father's hand with a smile.

"I said I'd try and change, honey, and I will," he assured her, "From now on, you should come first and you will come first."

"You're making the right decision, Mr. President," Sloane assured him.

"Yes, you are," Cameron agreed, giving Natalie a thumbs-up in victory.

"But Mr. President, who will lead the party through the next elections!?" the Speaker protested, "If we don't go in with a unified message that a sitting president can..."

"This is America, Bruce; let the best person step forward and put forth their vision," Simmons told him, "Right, Doug?" he asked the vice president, who abruptly jolted upright as if waking from a trance. "Huh? Who am I? What am I doing here?" he asked out loud, looking confused.

"It's OK, Doug, we can take it from here," the Speaker rolled his eyes in disgust. "Mr. President, I must also say I disagree with your decision on policy with the emir here," he pointed at their guest, "We're committing far too much money and resources for..."

"Duly noted, Bruce. I'm willing to listen to what the foreign service committee heads have to say on the matter, but I hope to leave office with a major accomplishment," Simmons cut him off.

"What do you have in mind, sir?" Brian leaned forward in his chair, interested.

"Well, young man, as you may know, it's hard to get anything done in the Middle East because there's so many different tribal factions and different branches of Islam and other rival groups at cross purposes with each other," the president explained, "Given Emir Zaid's country's strong alliance with us, I thought he'd be a good person to spearhead my plan at trying to bring peace to the region. Instead of either propping up corrupt leaders in the cause of furthering American interests or bombing the heck out of terrorist hot spots, I'm committing to establishing a grand Arabic council, to be based in Kuwait City, to be comprised of all the heads of state of all the Middle Eastern countries should they choose to attend-and yes, Bruce, that does include the Iranians," he pointed out firmly to the Speaker, who had opened his mouth to apparently lodge another protest. "We've thrown our own weight around in the region too much over the years; it's time those countries get to handle their own affairs diplomatically. I think if they all got together and saw that their differences are not nearly as strong as what they have in common, perhaps we'd have a chance to have a breakthrough in the overall peace process."

"It sounds like a good start to me, Mr. President," Brian nodded in agreement, "I think you've got the right idea too; when people are made to come together, they do tend to realize how much they actually do have in common," he turned to the rest of his former detention attendees, who nodded themselves.

"So I've come to realize. Emir Zaid has volunteered to be the first head of the organization if we can successfully set it up, and I thank him for that," Simmons shook the emir's hand, "Of course, we'll have to get a pledge from them that any unprovoked attack on Israel is now and forever off the books, so we need something to give to the Palestinians that will get them to the table..."

"I will ask around, Matthew. And if there is anything I can get for you in return if we can make this council a reality, just name it," the emir offered.

"Oh, you know what you can get Matty here: a couple more million gallons of oil under the table, at sky high prices for drivers everywhere," Bender cracked. The emir turned towards him with a confused expression. "I'm afraid I do not understand," he frowned.

"Oh, I think you do," Bender leaned back in his seat with a smug expression, "The only real question is, exactly how much will we all be bilked for this in the end? I can guess, Matty," he leaned towards the president, giving him a contemptuous grin, "This guy sends you a couple million gallons of overpriced oil, a few camels, and probably several suicide bombers to hit a major city or two, and you send them all the prostitutes everyone else in Washington's sleeping with for his harem and three trillion or so taxpayer dollars that we never get back. I know how the one percent operates. Am I getting warm here?"

"What is he saying, Matthew?" the emir turned to the president with a frown.

"It's just a joke, your Highness," Claire cut in, looking very frustrated, "Just a bad joke on Bender's part that went way off the mark. Would you excuse us for a moment, please? Would you come with me, please!?" she grabbed Bender by the nose and dragged him forcibly over to the women's room, slamming the door hard behind her. "What the hell is your problem!?" she bellowed at him, "You're insulting two important leaders of the free world, and you're embarrassing me!"

"Hey, I told you I didn't like the man, and if you believe the sincerity of his so-called leadership skills, you're blind!" Bender shot back, "It's all a racket to screw the rest of us, and I have the right to tell him that!"

"Not by being ethnically insensitive to a major Middle Eastern leader like that!"

"Well how do we know this guy's not secretly a terror mastermind, huh!? How do we know he doesn't turn around and stab us in the back!?"

"Stop it, all right, just stop it!" Claire screamed at him, "You're making all of us look bad out there...!"

"And for the last time, Cherry my dear, I don't care!" he shouted at her, "I am not going to suck up and pretend to be the nice, politically correct goody two shoes guy to people like them! I'm John Bender of Shermer, Illinois, and I don't pretend to be someone I'm not! "And this..." he tore off his tie and tossed it to the floor, followed by his tuxedo, "...is not me! I'm my own man, and I always will be, whether anyone damn well likes it or not! This is America, the land of freedom of expression, and I can call a spade a spade if I want to!"

Claire threw her hands up over her head and screamed in frustration. "I'm warning you, Bender, I will only take so much!" she thrust a finger in his face, "You humiliate me like that again...!"

"Oh yeah, it's all about you; because I'm the criminal, I'm always supposed to be wrong, is that it!?" he barked, "Well, I don't have to take this, from anyone or anything!"

He stormed towards the door. "Where are you going now!?" she shouted after him.

"For a walk," he retorted curtly, "I can tell when I'm not welcome. And while I'm gone, tell Matty and all his friends in the one percent to go stick it for me!"

He slammed the door behind himself. Claire screamed in frustration again and kicked the garbage can over in a rage. "OK, OK, get a grip on yourself, Standish," she said out loud as calmly as she could, stumbling over to the sink and grabbing hold of it tightly, "You're calm, you're cool, you're collected, you're in command no matter what he says or does. It's nothing you've done; he's choosing this path himself." She took several very deep breaths and stared into the mirror at her reflection. "Is this really what you want?" she asked herself, "To go through this over and over again?" She lowered her head and sighed. "Maybe you need a walk yourself, collect all your thoughts...and hope he's calmed down when he gets back. Yeah, a walk'll do some good..."


	6. An Afternoon on the Lake

"Hope these are enough photos for Captain Crazy," Rooney mused, clicking off a few final shots of the lake's secondary marina, then stuffing the camera into his purse, "I have no clue what he plans to do with them, but either way, mission accomplished, Richard. Now let's get out of here so I can get out of this dress!"

"Hold the phone, Ed," Vernon suddenly held up his hand, a dark look spreading on his face behind his false beard, "We can't leave just yet. Primary target has been acquired," he pointed across the now sunny marina, where Bender-having now changed into a T-shirt and jeans-was walking briskly away from their location. "Did you get a gun off those guys?" he asked Rooney.

"No; you know full well we'd never get past all the magnetometers if I had...!"

"Well, it doesn't matter," Vernon growled sadistically, "If we can't shoot the jackass," he hefted his cane, "We can still beat the life out of him. And for John Bender, a slow and painful death is the best death. Come on, we don't want to lose sight of him...!"

The two of them bustled after Bender as fast as they could while maintaining their disguise as an elderly couple. Their target pushed his way through the throngs of people milling about the docks, finally coming to a stop by the unoccupied dock at the end. He picked up a handful of rocks from the ground before stomping down to the end of the dock. "All right, Ed, cover my back," Vernon hissed to him, "I'm going to...Ed!?" he glared back at his partner, fiddling around with his legs.

"I've got your back, Richard; I've just got a run in my damn stocking!" Rooney grumbled in disgust, pulling at it. Vernon rolled his eyes in disgust. He approached the end of the dock and checked to make sure none of the bystanders were paying attention to him. He locked in on his quarry at the end of the dock. Bender was now hurling the stones into the lake. "...don't know what it's going to take to please her, to please any of them!" he was muttering out loud, "Everyone says to be yourself; why is it I get crucified for it while everyone else gets cheered for doing it!? I just tell it like it is; it's not my fault if they can't take it! There's just no respect for John Bender by anyone, and that's not fair at all!"

"Well guess what, you cockroach, you won't have to worry about that any more..." Vernon whispered murderously, raising his cane high over his head. He started creeping up the dock towards his unaware quarry...

"Hey, give that back, you punk!" came Rooney's roar from behind him, making him turn back around when he was about halfway to Bender. A young man had snatched Rooney's purse, with the critical camera inside, and had taken off running. "Get back here, you little...!" Rooney roared out loud, running after him at full speed-much faster than any actual old woman could have. He caught up to the thief after about fifteen feet and threw him hard to the ground. "Steal from me, will you!? Well I...!" he abruptly stopped and turned pale to realize every eye in the marina had turned in his direction, attracted by his un-womanly shouts. Gulping, he quickly stooped over and cried out in his best take on an old woman's voice, "Help, police! Eustace, help!" he cried out to Vernon. Sighing in disgust, Vernon lowered his cane and hobbled over as convincingly as he could. "I'm here, Ruth, don't worry," he comforted his "wife," pulling Rooney up, "Get lost, you creep!" he shouted at the purse snatcher, giving him a kick. Looking wide eyed at such aggressive elderly people, the thug jumped up and ran, although several bystanders chased after him. "That's right, grab him and call the cops on him!" Vernon called out in his old man voice. Come on, Ruth, I'll take you home," he grabbed the purse and shoved it into Rooney's hands before leading him away. Once they were out of sight of the marina, they broke into a faster clip. "Way to go, Ed; now everybody here knows something's up!" he upbraided his former underling.

"What was I supposed to do, just let him run with it when it had the camera in it? Captain Crazy would have lynched us for sure without it!" Rooney argued, "Let's just get out of the lake and give him what he wants; we'll get another crack at John and the rest of them yet."

The two of them rushed off. Behind them, Bender was frowning in the direction they'd gone. "Something strange about those two," he mumbled to himself, "She almost sounded like...ah, the hell with it," he shrugged indifferently, "No way it could have been..."

Shaking his head, he trudged off the dock and made his way down through the marina-not noticing a familiar face now entering it behind him...

* * *

"...am I just setting myself up for more emotional pain?" Claire was musing out loud to herself, threading her way along the shoreline, "Yeah, he's got his good side, and I like when he shows it, but he just can't stop giving in to the darkness no matter how much I beg him not to. And if I can't truly change him, who can? Has he come as far as he ever will?"

She came to a stop at the waterline and stared out across the lake. "Did I make the wrong choice in detention?" she asked softly to no one in particular, "Should I have sprung for Brian when it was clear Allison was interested in Andy? Or should I have made a move for Andy? Or should I just have forgotten everyone and looked elsewhere?" She shook her head softly, "I just wish there was an easy answer..."

She yelped as someone bumped into her, sending her tumbling to the sand. "Oh, I'm sorry," a boy's voice spoke up next to her, for he too had fallen, "I wasn't paying attention there. Let me help you up."

"Well I can..." Claire started to protest, but was gently pulled to her feet by a red-haired boy of about nineteen in a suit and tie. "Thanks," she commended him, "It was kind of my fault as well; I was lost in thought there..."

"I see. OK, well, good, then," the boy said into his cell phone after picking it up off the beach where it had fallen after the collision, "Just make sure he gets it then. See you later tonight then I guess."

He hung up. "Just making sure some last minute business was taken care of," he told her, "I'm Jeremy O'Connor; I'm an aide to House Speaker Begelman. What's your name?"

"Claire Standish."

"Very nice to meet you, Claire. That's a really pretty name, too," he smiled, "And Standish...any relation to Captain Myles Standish, by chance?"

"We're not sure; I haven't been able to trace the family tree back that far. What I do know is my great-great-great-grandfather William Standish came to the Chicago area in 1868 and made a fortune in steelmaking. Then he branched out to banking and made even more money."

"So you're from Chicago, then?"

"Uh, yeah, Chicago area; a small town northwest of the city named Shermer to be exact. My grandfather moved the family out there about eighty years ago."

"Very nice. And why's a pretty girl like you walking along the beach in a formal gown?" Jeremy inquired, noting her fancy wardrobe.

"Oh, uh, I just needed to go for a walk," Claire said quickly, "Um, I was at the formal dinner your boss is at, and, uh, things came up so that I felt...well, I'd like to think a few things over."

"How'd you get invited to it?"

"One of our classmates got an invite from the president; he'd helped him out during the senior class trip in Washington, and so President Simmons gave him the invitation to this summit as a kind of reward. He asked my friends and I to come along with him."

"I see. Well, Claire, I'm actually finished up everything I needed to do for work today, so I'd be glad to join you on your walk if you'd like," Jeremy offered, "If that's OK with you, of course..."

"Well...all right," Claire managed a small smile. She was starting to like Jeremy. "So I guess you're from Wisconsin?" she asked him as they continued onward together.

"Madison," he told her, "I applied to be an aide to the Speaker, and was accepted. I basically do whatever he asks of me. I hope to spin this into a Congressional seat eventually; I've wanted to be in politics since I was young."

"I've been stuck with politics since I was young; my father throws around money to politicians he approves of like water," Claire rolled her eyes, "And nearly all of them end up losing. Your family do that?"

"No, but we've got money, from railroad ownership that was passed down," Jeremy said, "It got a bit boring at times, though, having all that money and having nothing to do."

"Tell me about it," Claire lamented, "I know that feeling well; sometimes it just feels like you're atrophying in slow motion."

"Mmm," Jeremy mused softly. "Say, you doing anything this afternoon, Claire?" he asked her.

"Well...I wasn't sure what everyone else was going to do after the former dinner for the emir. I think we were waiting to see what the president would do..."

"Well then, would you like to go horseback riding together?" Jeremy asked, "I know they have the stables up here, and..."

"So you're asking me out on a date after just five minutes?" she laughed, "You're quite the ladies man, Jeremy O'Connor."

"Thank you," he bowed, "So is it a yes?"

"Well...I'll certainly have to change first," she glanced down at her gown, which certainly was inappropriate for horseback riding, "If you give me about twenty minutes to run back to the main hotel and slip into something less formal, can we do it?"

"I'll wait right here till you get back," Jeremy told her, "Take your time."

"OK then, I'll be back," Claire smiled. She started back down the beach, shooting a glance over her shoulder at Jeremy, who had started digging out his cell phone to make another call. "Maybe the answer _was_ none of the above," she mused softly, "He seems like he could have potential..."

* * *

"They're showing _what_ film after the music tonight!?" Ferris squinted at the French title in the program of the evening's events on the primary dock of the main marina across the lake.

"Silent Vines; supposed to be some big award-winning film by some great French director I never even heard of till now," Natalie shook her head, "Apparently the White House staff bought it for the emir's visit, thinking it would be a good way to show international..."

"Oh no, no, no; we can't subject the emir-not to mention dozens of average Americans vacationing here at Lake Olafsson-to this kind of cinematic experience," Ferris declared with faux outrage, "If he wants to see the best of America, he's got to see the best American films. So," he leaned closer to her ear, "You can have the Secret Service guys bring your laptop down to the stage if you ask them?"

"What do you want me to do, Ferris?" she started grinning.

"I take it you got to see White Tiger over the summer, like much of the rest of the country did?"

"Of course; I went to see it at the end of June and loved it."

"So did I. And that would certainly fit the bill better than some obscure French movie. So how long do you think it would take to download the film to a standard laptop and connect that to play on the big screen, plus add in at the beginning, to make it even more special...?" Ferris whispered his additional requests in the president's daughter's ear. Natalie broke into laughter. "You really want to make this an experience for everyone, Ferris," she told him with a smile, "I can probably download all that in about fifteen minutes. Shall I see if someone can bring in a popcorn machine too?"

"Oh of course, if we can. In fact, give me a minute before we set sail, and I'll make a few calls for enough refreshments for everyone," Ferris bustled back onto dry land, waving to Sloane and Cameron, who were conversing with the Secretary of State. Breaking into laughter, Natalie walked down the dock (along with a pair of accompanying Secret Service agents) to the large pontoon boat at the end, where the other Shermer High School students were already seated on board with three other agents, who were finishing checking the boat. "Well, looks like our regularly scheduled movie will not be seen tonight; Ferris has a better idea," she told them.

"Seems like he always has," Andrew chuckled, "So," he leaned towards her as she sat down, "Cameron Frye, ultra-neurotic, actually saved you from drowning?"

"Yeah, he did. I don't remember much after I crashed-I got a concussion from it-but I remember being dragged out of the car, and can vaguely see Cameron's face on my rescuer, taking me back to shore."

"Who would have thought the guy ever had it in him?" the wrestler was impressed, "But what were you doing crashing into the Potomac anyway?"

"I...I wasn't in a good place at the time," Natalie confessed, lowering her head, "I was lonely, feeling trapped in the White House, I was angry at Mom and Dad for leaving me there alone right before my birthday while they each went on official presidential business. I just cracked under all the pressure. I snuck out and spent several hours essentially self-destructing. I don't remember the crash clearly; I was so heavily drunk at the time. That's how I know how bad I was looking back. I almost never tasted alcohol before that. I owe Cameron and the others everything; if they hadn't been walking along Ohio Avenue right at the spot I went in..."

She shook her head grimly at the thought of what might have been. "But that led to some of the best days of my life so far," she brightened up, "Ferris set up the best birthday I could have imagined, and Cameron got me this as a present," she extended her right ring finger towards the others to show them the moonstone ring she'd gotten, "And it was thrilling to work with them to expose Senator Tannen and save Dad's seat in the White House; that was the most excitement and fun I'd had since we came to Washington. Well, mostly fun," she shivered, "It did get a little hairy when your principal tried to kill us on the Beltway..."

"I'm not surprised it came to that," Allison confessed, "Mr. Rooney's been obsessed with bringing Ferris down for years; I could tell it was a only a matter of time before he'd go too far. But at least now he's been fired and arrested for his rampage, so he's out of everyone's hair for years to come."

"Yeah, my father made sure the prosecutors pushed for the maximum against him for almost killing me in his rampage. But anyway," Natalie leaned towards her, "Cameron mentioned you and your other friends who aren't here right now met when you all had to serve detention together?"

"Yeah, actually. It was a crazy ride; when we all walked in the door at school that Saturday, we could have cared less about each other, but by the end of the day, we all felt like we knew each other," Allison admitted, "It took us a while to get there, and all of us dragged out some painful things along the way, but it was more than worth it for us as people. Learning that we weren't all that different underneath felt like a lot of weight being lifted deep inside. Maybe that's something everyone can learn in this world, that what you see on the surface isn't always the important thing."

"And I certainly ended up lucky that we were all there; I got to meet you," Andrew pulled her into a hug.

"I know, and I'm glad we did," she smiled at him.

"I see," the president's daughter grinned. "And how about you?" she craned her neck towards Melissa, "If you're not from their school, how'd you meet everyone?"

"At your great-grandfather's competition," Melissa explained, "Our school was facing Shermer; Brian was on their team," she nodded towards him. "But I was in a bad place myself," it was her turn to lower her head, "I was terrified of the thought of life after high school; I didn't feel ready for it. And I thought I was going to be alone at Northwestern; no one else from my class had committed there. So I...I'd decided to take the easy way out. I...I stole some rat poison from my father's hardware store before going to the competition that night. I was going to sneak out and commit suicide after the match..."

"Oh God...!" Natalie gasped in shock, "You were really that bad...!?"

"That bad," the blonde nodded grimly, "Looking back, it would have been completely pointless and a total waste of my life. But at the time I was too heavily depressed and scared to think straight. I thought it was the only way to make the fear and pain of going into the real world go away."

"So why didn't you go through with it?" the First Daughter asked with wide eyes.

"Because Brian was on that stage. He saved me by showing me I wasn't alone," Melissa put her arm around him and gave him a grateful smile, "Seeing in the program that he was going to Northwestern for physics too made me realize I wasn't as alone as I'd thought. And after the match...well, maybe you'd better tell her, Brian," she asked him.

"Well," Brian took a deep breath, "Our school came back from an almost fifty point deficit in the last round..."

"And you led the way, pal, so be proud of that," Andrew commended him.

"Well, it was a team effort, Andy; we all did it," the brain said modestly. "But," he turned back to Natalie, "I rang in for the last question, but I blanked out, and that cost us the match. And that crushed me beyond words; I'd wanted to win the Simmons competition all my life, and to have the dream slip away just like that...I fell into the same boat Melissa was in; I decided suicide was the only option, thinking I'd failed everyone I knew. I ran out of the building in tears and stumbled around the city for a few hours before I almost froze to death; to make a long story short, luckily everyone else," he gestured at Andrew and Allison, "found me just in time."

"Seeing Brian in the same boat as me also helped me," Melissa jumped back in, "After I saw we'd be going to the same school, I started feeling a connection with him; once I realized how serious his situation was, that forced me to take a good look inside and revaluate how I'd looked at my own predicament. I felt I needed to go out and look for him, that I owed it to him for showing me the way out of the darkness, even if unknowingly. So I did, and when I got the word they'd found him and went to the hospital," she let out a loud gulp, "Seeing him laying there in the hospital bed, frozen stiff and looking for all the world like he was dead...it was like I was looking at myself, at the alternate path that would have been if I'd taken that poison. It made me feel so guilty at having considered suicide in the first place, seeing him like that. I spent a good half hour in the hospital bathroom crying and praying to God to let him live. Fortunately, Brian did come back, and I got to tell him that he'd saved me. Who'd have believed it?" she leaned back thoughtfully, "Two little sentences in a cheap paper program proved to be the difference between life and death..."

"So are you OK now?" Natalie inquired.

"Much, much better, thanks to Brian being the best boyfriend anyone could ask for," Melissa put her other arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder, "These last four months, he's just been so sweet to me. Do you know that on my birthday, he arranged it so that they crowned me as a queen at the restaurant we ate out at? That was the single happiest moment of my life, to be treated so nobly. Since we've started going out, I've felt more alive and meaningful that I had in all eighteen years before. After feeling like I wanted to die most of this year, it feels so great to be alive right now."

"Same here. It's really something, after all," Brian sighed happily, stroking her hair, "We each wanted to find death after that competition, but instead we found life through each other."

"I guess the others aren't coming?" Sloane stepped onto the boat.

"Claire texted about five minutes ago to say she was going horseback riding instead. Bender, who knows where he is now?" Allison shook her head, "I hope it's just that he got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and needed some time to mellow out."

"And I say good riddance," Cameron snorted, hopping aboard and plopping down next to Natalie, "I was never really comfortable having him along on this trip."

"Now Cameron, remember what I said about trying to break down walls," Ferris reminded him, sitting down with Sloane in the bow, "Lest we forget, angry and insensitive though he might be, John needed time away from home as well."

"I'll try, Ferris, but so far, it's not working," his best friend shook his head.

"So John doesn't have the best home life?" Natalie asked him.

"Sorry to say, no; his father's a brute who takes his own problems out on him," Andrew told her with a shake of his own head, "In fact, I think part of what got us to like each other in detention," he gestured at everyone else who'd been there with him, "was realizing all our parents had failed us to some degree. In fact, you might..."

"All aboard, your Eminence," the president was gesturing the emir onto the boat. He took his wife by the hand and personally helped her on. "I'm not sure about this, Matthew..." she looked hesitant to be going out on the lake.

"Oh come on, Mom, there's nothing to worry about; this is a great way to have a conference, out on the lake," Natalie urged her. Looking a little green, the First Lady forced a quick smile, then sat down on the port side, still gripping her husband's hand hard. Other high-ranking officials-as well as a few more Secret Service agents and the emir's bodyguards-climbed on board as well. "Um, not that I'm complaining, but we're not overloading the boat, are we?" Cameron nervously asked the Secret Service agent taking the ship's wheel, "And have we confirmed there's enough floatation and lifesaving devices on board in case we do sink or capsize...?"

"Not to worry, son, we're perfectly safe," the agent told him. "Ready when you are, Mr. President," he told the leader of the free world.

"All right then, take it out, Oscar," Simmons directed him. The agent started the boat's engine and backed away from the dock. He pulled out into the lake, other Secret Service agents following alongside and behind them in other boats. "OK, now that we're out here, Zaid," the president turned to the emir, "If I task you with trying to get as many Middle Eastern countries to sign on, who do you think we can count on?"

"Bahrain and Qatar seem like certain yeses," the emir told him, shifting about in his seat, "Oman, I think the sultan can be convinced. Jordan, maybe; I'm not sure they would sign an ironclad pledge not to attack Israel ever again. Saudi Arabia, I think they would, but if it is your intention to include Iran, they would probably say no."

"Yeah, I know, that's the tough part," Simmons admitted, "We need the Saudis' support for any Middle Eastern alliance to work, but if we leave the Iranians out, it probably doesn't have any bite. Somehow we've got to bridge the gap between them. Who do you think would have a chance at being a good mediator if we asked them to sit down and at least try to work something out?"

"Perhaps the UAE; Abu Dhabi could be a neutral site for it."

"We have to get the Palestinians on board too; I'd like to find some sort of parameters to add to the current peace process that we could use to get them to consider it..."

"Mr. President, if I may," the Secretary of State spoke up, "I appreciate that you want to do this, but I must point out the long odds against getting all those countries to even consider working together. There's just too many differences among them. Why don't we try something we can actually succeed at?"

"I get what you're saying, Rob. And to be honest, part of me deep down does have some doubts. But for the hope of a better world, we have to try," the president told him firmly. "You know, the original creators of Sesame Street once said, essentially, 'If we don't do this, who will?' That's what I'm trying to do here; if we succeed, wonderful, we'll have made the world better; if not, at least we tried."

"Again, I must reiterate, however, Mr. President, that right now, we simply don't have the votes for this," the Speaker of the House protested, "Henry and I," he gestured at the president pro tempore, "can't get enough to make this pass. With all due respect, I think you're moving too fast with this. Woodrow Wilson made the same mistake while trying to get the League of Nations started, and that turned Congress against the idea."

"I know my history, Bruce. We're not going to make the same mistakes Wilson did. So I ask you and Henry: get the votes," the president authorized him.

"I have additional concerns, Mr. President; we don't have the money for this either," the Speaker pleaded, "We've already appropriated too much for other parts of the budget. I think the money we're allotting to this would go better to serving the Pentagon, or locking down the borders..."

"Mr. Speaker, with my own due respect, I think the borders are basically just fine as they are," Sloane interrupted, "We are supposed to be the great melting pot, after all; as long as people do come legally and for good reasons, there's no need to build walls."

"That's my point, Bruce; I think my idea of spending our money has more of an upside," the president told him.

"But I'll say it right now, Mr. President: if we do that, we're going to have to make cuts elsewhere."

"I've read Congress has its own fleet of cars and a private gym; why do you really need any of those, especially when your jobs aren't supposed to be permanent?" Cameron spoke up with a frown, "I think that and the other unnecessary congressional perks are easy cuts."

"Young man, I don't appreciate you and your friends here cutting into what isn't your...!" the speaker started to scold him.

"Mr. Begelman, this IS our business," Natalie cut him off with a frown of her own, "All of us," she gestured at the other teens, "Are the future of this country. And our say should be as important as your generation's."

"My girl's right, Bruce, listen to what the younger generations say," the president admonished him. The Speaker gripped the railing hard, clearly trying to suppress a burst of fury. "As I said, Mr. President, cuts are going to be necessary, then," he said as calmly as he could manage, "So, I recommend a ten percent cut to food stamps at bare minimum, coupled with an fifteen percent cut in Social Security; that's the only way we can ever hope to afford..."

"And then what about the people who depend on food stamps and Social Security?" it was Allison's turn to cut in, "In the neighborhood I live in back in Chicago, there's more than a few people that need both. And that's not because they're lazy or leeches either; they have no choice. What good is cutting their lifelines to save a few dollars?"

"We cannot keep spending at current levels, young lady; some things have to go if we're going ahead with this Mideast peace idea!"

"Well cutting down on pet projects obviously would help; when I watch cable news, it's clear too much gets earmarked for congresspersons' personal projects. Five hundred million dollars for fruit fly studies, for example?" Brian posed with a raised eyebrow, "I appreciate the need for scientific research, but some projects just aren't worth it. And I'm sure we can find something to cut down in the military; when we've got more than twice the budget of every other country in the world combined, we need to..."

"So that's your answer, cut down the military and endanger our national security!? Young man, for your information, that's just standard misinformed liberal rubbish. You clearly don't know or don't care about..."

"Mr. Speaker, maybe I don't hold the position you do, but please don't insinuate that I or any of the rest of us don't know anything," Brian leaned forward with a scowl of his own, "For your information, I finished tenth in my class, and Melissa finished fourth in hers," he gestured at her, "So we're not uninformed. And it's not that I don't appreciate the military, because I really do; two of my uncles served, and a cousin's currently serving in Germany. But if you're looking at bloat, that's a good place to look. There's a couple dead-end weaponry projects I've heard of, for example, that could be stopped. Channel their funds into something better, say, the school system. That could use a shot in the arm..."

"Exactly," Melissa agreed, "Why make war when we can teach kids? I think about a five percent transfer of military funds to the Education Department would be a good start to..."

"Now just a minute here...!"

"Sorry Bruce, it appears you've lost the argument," the president said with a wry smile, "I think I might just take some of these kids' ideas up for the rest of my term. You agree, Doug?" he nudged the snoozing vice president, who jerked upwards with a start. "Huh, oh, oh, yeah," he mumbled before nodding off again. "Exactly," Simmons nodded, making the Speaker grit his teeth together hard to keep from yelling.

"And we appreciate it, Mr. President. So, Mr. Emir," Ferris turned to the Kuwaiti leader, "Have you ever been on a boat ride like this before?"

"I have my own yacht," the emir told him, "I use it every now and then."

"I see. But that of course is a slow and dull experience. So with the captain's and the president's permission, I'd like to be able to take the controls here and show you how we have fun on the water here in the good old U.S.A.," Ferris proposed, "It'll make your visit here that much more memorable, I promise you that."

"Oh no, not a fast ride...!" the First Lady groaned, grabbing the railing hard in terror.

"Come on, Mom, live a little," Natalie urged her. "Go for it, Ferris," she encouraged him.

"Oscar, let him have the wheel," the president commanded the Secret Service agent at the controls, who stepped aside and let Ferris walk up to the wheel. "Don't worry, Mr. Emir, I won't put you in any harm," he assured the foreign ruler, "But in the meantime," he put his hand on the throttle, "Now hear this: Ludicrous Speed, GO!"

"Young man, I must demand you not...!" the Speaker stood up, outraged, but it was at that moment Ferris threw the throttle on full blast. The jolt of the sudden increase in speed sent Begelman flying backwards, toppling over the back of the boat. He frantically grabbed hold of the anchor chain, which started telescoping outwards under his weight, until he was hydroplaning across the water a good ten feet behind the boat. "Can't catch us!" Ferris playfully called to the trailing Secret Service boats, who desperately sped up to try and keep pace.

"Ferris, not too fast!" Cameron begged him, gripping the railing hard himself.

"Yaaaaaahhhooooo!" Natalie shouted in delight, pumping her fist in the air. "Enjoying it, Mr. Begelman?" she called back to the Speaker. He shouted a clear obscenity in the boat's direction. "Mr. Begelman said, 'Go faster,' Ferris," she called up to him.

"OK," Ferris pushed the throttle to its maximum limit. The odometer read a hundred miles an hour as he slalomed the boat into a series of wild S-turns. "Never thought you'd get to enjoy this, huh, Mr. President?" he asked Simmons.

"Not while I was still in office, Ferris. Go for broke!" the leader of the free world urged him on, waving merrily at the trailing Secret Service boats, who were rapidly falling behind. "Fun, isn't it, Zaid?" he asked the emir.

"Most interesting...but yes, fun," the emir agreed, shouting in delight as the boat hit the wake of another vessel passing perpendicularly and bounced briefly through the air, "I should get myself one of these. Do you do this often, Matthew?"

"Not before now, but as I've come to see lately, we all need moments like this in our lives. I've missed too much the last few years, and now, it's time I enjoy life more. Up the ramp, Ferris," he encouraged the boy to aim for one straight ahead.

"Oh my god...!" pale, the First Lady covered her eyes and buried her face in his chest in terror. Ferris paid no attention, zooming the boat up the ramp and soaring a good ten feet through the air to the president's excited yell before splashing down hard to cheers from almost everyone else on board. "Glad you're all liking it," he called back to them, "In that case, I'll circle all the way around the lake, then..."


	7. Performing with Legends

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters cameoing here are trademarked by Universal City Studios; while they may not be Hughes's creations, given the storyline I'd crafted, I couldn't resist bringing them in. Moving on again...

* * *

"I just want to say I really appreciated this afternoon, Jeremy," Claire told him with a smile, handing the reins of her horse back off to the attendants at the stables, "I really needed a break from a lot of things today..."

"So did I, really," Jeremy confessed, handing off his horse as well, "You can only imagine how hectic my job can be..."

"I have an idea; whenever my father invited over aides of the candidates he was donating to, I could tell they were always stressed out," Claire rolled her eyes. "You go riding often?" she had to ask him, "You seemed a little uncomfortable on the horse there for a while..."

"No, not really," Jeremy told her, "When you, uh, live in the city, you don't get the chance to do so. How about you?"

"We do have horses at our country estate, but I always ended up riding them alone. It was good to be able to share it with someone for once," her smile returned. The two of them stared awkwardly at each other for a minute before Claire's cell phone buzzed. She rapidly dug it out of her purse. "Already? Uh, I've got to go; my friends are heading for the stage," she told Jeremy, "Say, you want to come along?"

"Love to, Claire, but, uh, no; I've got a few last minute, um, calls to make to a couple of representatives the Speaker wants to get signed on to the next energy bill," Jeremy shook his head.

"Oh. Well, guess I'll see you around," Claire turned to leave, then stopped. "Will I see you again?" she turned and asked him hopefully.

"I think so," it was Jeremy's turn to smile, "If you're staying at the president's hotel, I should be there for the conference that's on the Speaker's schedule for tomorrow morning. After it's done, maybe we could do more together if my schedule and your schedule work."

"Oh good. It was nice meeting you, Jeremy O'Connor," she waved him goodbye.

"Wonderful to meet you, Claire Standish," he returned the wave with a smile of his own. Claire exhaled in relief as she walked away from the stables. "Yeah, he really has potential," she said out loud, delighted, "Maybe I lucked into something good here..."

* * *

"I must say, these designs are really impressive, Miss Winters," President Simmons commended Melissa, examining her rocket designs, "Tell you what, if I like what I see from the actual models in action, I'll make sure there's extra NASA money in the next bill. So you'll take care of that, won't you Henry, Bruce?" he asked the congressional leaders across the boat.

"AAAAAACCCCHOOOOOO!" Speaker Begelman sneezed hard, sopping wet and wrapped in a blanket after having been finally fished out of the lake. "See, they agree," the president told Melissa.

"I...I really appreciate it, sir," Melissa beamed, sharing the expression with Brian when he squeezed her hand in excitement, "I've worked long and hard to try and get an outlet for my designs..."

"I'm sure you have. OK, Oscar, it's about time for us to go in and catch some music and a movie," Simmons told the Secret Service agent now back at the wheel. The boat slowly curved back towards the dock at the main marina, where the sounds of the southern rock band now performing at the music festival could already be heard. "Hey, look at all the cops out there," Sloane pointed to the marina parking lot, where dozens of highway patrol cars were parked, "Illinois state police...what are they all doing here...?"

"Oh, I think they've come to see the acts tonight too," Ferris said cryptically; having seen who would be performing tonight, it was no surprise to him that half of Illinois's law enforcement community had shown up.

Wally was waiting for them when the boat slid to a stop back at the dock. "Evening, Mr. President, everyone," he greeted them, pulling the boat's front door open, "How was the...?"

The First Lady rushed past him off the boat in a flash, dove head-first into the sand, and started kissing the ground passionately in relief. "OOOOOOK. Well if..." Wally was cut off again as Speaker Begelman angrily pushed past him. "Something wrong there, Mr. Speaker?" he asked.

"I have never been so humiliated in all my life as I was on this cruise!" the Speaker bellowed, "I've had enough for the night; I'm going back to the hotel!"

"Oh come on, Bruce, we were all just having fun...!" Simmons protested.

"Matt, being dragged all over the damn lake was not even remotely fun!" Begelman shouted at him, "And mark my words: if you let these kids tell you how to run the country," he pointed accusingly at them all, "We're going to fall down a hole we'll never be able to climb out of! Remember that, Matt!"

He stomped off in a rage. "Clearly he could use a day off, am I right, Mr. President?" Ferris asked the leader of the free world.

"I'm starting to wonder, Ferris. You OK, Nancy?" the president bent down to his wife's level.

"Dry land never felt so good!" she gushed, continuing to kiss the sand, "After a wild ride like that...!"

"But it was fun, Nancy, wasn't it?" he gently helped her up. "Wasn't it, Zaid?" he asked the emir.

"I have not had such fun in years," the emir was beaming himself, "I was expecting a stuffy summit, but this is more than...Ahmed," he turned towards a group of his countrymen approaching, "Just the boy I wanted to see. Andrew Clark," he called to the wrestler, "Meet my nephew Ahmed; he is a wrestler too."

"Glad to meet you, Ah-" Andrew turned-and froze, slowly glancing upwards. For Ahmed was at least a head and a half taller than him, and heavily muscled. "Pleasure to meet you, Andrew Clark," Ahmed told him, shaking his hand, "I have been training hard to go to Nairobi for the next Olympic games, and it would be an honor to practice against you."

"Um...uh...um..." was the best Andrew come up with, staring numbly at the emir's nephew's formidable physique.

"How about tomorrow night, after we do whatever we do tomorrow?" the emir posed to the president.

"Sounds good to me, Zaid," Simmons agreed, "Well, come with me, my friend; we have reserved seats for the music and the movie..."

"I'll stay with Ferris and the others, Dad," Natalie told him.

"Sounds good, honey. Keep an eye on her, guys," the president told his daughter's Secret Service detail. He and his wife and the other high government officials led the emir and his nephew off to their seats-leaving a thoroughly stunned Andrew standing frozen in place. "Uh, just remind me, guys," he mumbled softly, sensing everyone else gathering around him, "Did I ever actually say for sure that I agreed to wrestle him?"

"Oh come on, Andy, you can handle him," Melissa encouraged him, "Besides, I've wanted to see you in action since I started hanging with you and the others..."

"In action, yeah, Melissa, but survive it? I don't know..." Andrew shook his head, uncertain, "That guy's a guaranteed gold medal winner; I..."

"Don't worry, Rock, I'm gonna whip you into shape for this fight good!" Ferris declared in his best impersonation of Rocky's trainer Mickey, "When I get done with you, you'll be a greasy fast American tank of destruction!"

"Why am I not encouraged by that, Ferris?" Andrew remained unsure.

"John's here," Sloane pointed across the beach. Indeed, Bender was coming their way. "Evening," he greeted all of them indifferently, "Have fun hanging out with the upper crust?"

"Actually, yeah, and you missed out on a great day, Bender," Cameron remarked with a bit of snobbishness.

"But you can still have fun with us tonight, John," Ferris told him, starting to put an arm around him, but ultimately pulling back when he remembered Bender's threat from earlier in the week, "We'll be going back on stage soon, and we've upgraded the movie to White Tiger-or we will once it's downloaded," he nodded at Natalie, "Sound good to you?"

"Sure, whatever," Bender mumbled, "Movies aren't what they used to be anymore these days."

"Oh come on, Bender, you enjoyed White Tiger when we saw it last month," Andrew pointed out to him.

"Yeah, White Tiger was good, Clark, but it was an anomaly; over ninety-five percent of today's movies aren't worth the film they're on, and I can't understand why people like those that do make money nowadays. Case in point: they have a hack comic dress up like an elf and spend the whole film basically running around acting like a total retard, and we're supposed to find that warm and funny!? If it were up to me, I'd..."

"Claire, over here," Brian was waving now. The rich girl was coming over to their location as well. "Sorry I'm late; just got your message five minutes ago," she told them all, "Sorry I was gone all day..."

"Not as sorry as us. Did Cherry have a good time on her own?" Bender greeted her coolly, prompting Ferris to wince in discomfort.

"Yes, Cherry in fact did," she greeted him just as coolly, "Cherry ended up having a wonderful day, one that somebody I know well missed out on because he chose to throw a fit and..."

"OOOOOKK," Ferris quickly jumped in, "Now that we're all here again, how about we go backstage and get ready?"

* * *

"Download starting...now," Natalie hit the Enter button on her laptop backstage, "By the time the last act finishes up, it should be ready to go."

"Including everything else I requested?" Ferris asked.

"Everything; I linked the files so they'd all download together."

"Good, good," Ferris rubbed his hands in delight. He turned towards the stage, where the most recent act was now finishing up. They took their bows and walked off stage in the other direction, to be quickly replaced by the oncoming band for the next act. "Hey wait, I recognize those guys," Brian leaned past Ferris to squint at them, "Aren't they...?"

"Excuse us please, coming through," a familiar voice rang out behind them. Two men were attempting to maneuver through the backstage crowd to the wings-two men dressed very familiarly in black hats, black suits, and sunglasses...

"Jake and Elwood Blues, it is a great honor to see two legends like you," Ferris bustled over to them and shook their hands, "I've been following your careers all my life."

"THE actual Joliet Jake Blues!?" Andrew shook Jake's hand himself, amazed, "I thought you were dead..."

"Yeah, I know, I get that a lot," Jake shook his head in disgust, "People don't realize that just because the guy who played me on screen happened to..."

"You're Ferris Bueller, aren't you?" Elwood recognized him, "Good to see you're feeling better after it looked like you were dying back in the spring."

"Well, Elwood, you know the power of prayer; it can do wonders if you believe hard enough," Ferris said, once more turning sideways and winking. He glanced down into the crowd, "It looks like your friends in Illinois's law enforcement community got word you were coming..."

"After all this time, they never know when to give up," Elwood shook his head, "Jake and I ain't broken no laws in a while, but they're still all worked up over everything that happened all those years ago."

"The actual Blues Brothers, is it?" Wally walked up and greeted them himself, "It's a great honor for the two of you to grace the lake for us this summer. I felt we needed a big name to give the music festival a boost this year, and you certainly fit the bill."

"Good to know, pal. OK, it's show time, so, briefcase..." Jake grabbed the briefcase lying next to the loudspeakers and handed it to his brother, who locked it into place on his wrist, "...key..." he dug one on a chain out of his pocket, "Go get them," he instructed Wally, who walked briskly towards the microphone at the center of the stage, "AAAAAAAnd...hit it, Murph!" he pointed to the band's keyboardist, who gestured at the other band members before breaking into the familiar tune of "Can't Turn You Loose." "And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time to introduce our special guests for tonight, two men you may be very well familiar with," Wally announced grandly to the crowd, "Direct from Calumet City, Illinois, graciously appearing here for your listening pleasure as part of their ongoing cross country Keep the Faith tour, won't you give a big North Woods welcome to two legends in their field, two men who live to give you the best of the blues, often imitated but never equaled, the one, the only, the original...!"

"OK, speed it up, buddy; you're going on too long!" Jake shouted impatiently from the wings. Wally gave him a sheepish nod. "Ladies and gentlemen, Joliet Jake and Elwood; the Blues Brothers!" he declared, strutting offstage as the brothers walked confidently on. Ferris applauded hard. "It's great to be able to see these guys in concert, am I right?" he asked the rest of his group.

"For once, we can agree, Bueller; I love everything these guys have done for Chicago," Bender applauded Jake and Elwood himself, "A hundred and seventeen cop cars totaled, half of Chicago's officials forced to resign in embarrassment after they wrecked half the city, the..."

"Yeah, I know, you just love anyone who can stick it the authority figures," Claire muttered from the back of the crowd, "You proved that real well already this morning..."

"Shh, shh, here we go," Ferris waved them off, not wanting the argument to go any further anyway. On stage, Jake raised his hand high and barked into the microphone, "One, two, one, two, three, four!" The band cranked into the familiar first song of the set. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, we're so glad to be in here in the North Woods tonight to perform at the Lake Olafsson Summer Music Festival," Elwood greeted the crowd, "We'd of course like to say hello to tonight's special guests, America's First Family, the Simmonses, and their special guest the Emir of Kuwait, who have chosen to come here tonight," he pointed to them in the audience, "In all our time traveling across this great land of ours, we've come to see people of all walks of life, and we've come to see that no matter what your creed or faith, we're all the same people under God-or Allah, or Yahweh or whatever higher being you may believe in. And we believe that music, good music, is one unifying factor of all types of people, that no matter how much we can disagree on..."

"Elwood, you're going on too long too; time to start the show!" Jake muttered loud enough in his ear to be heard out loud over the microphones. Elwood shrugged apologetically. "Take it away, Jake," he gestured at his brother.

"Comin' to ya, on a dusty road, good lovin', I got a truck load...!" Jake belted out the opening lyrics to his first song, his voice still strong after all these years. "He's really still got it," Cameron agreed from the wings, leaning past Ferris for a closer look. "And for all the damage they've caused to property and cop cars," he shot Bender a glare, "I've heard they've donated heavily to charity over the years too."

"Same thing I heard, Cam, that they really have reformed themselves. So, we're in extra luck the president's here," Ferris glanced out to his benefactor in the crowd, "Because I now have another idea..."

* * *

"So these good enough for you, Chief?" Rooney asked O'Donoghue back in the militant leader's new cabin headquarters.

"I guess some of these may come in handy," O'Donoghue mumbled, scanning through the photos on the camera, "If we have to make a quick strike, we can look at these beforehand to know the fastest ways in and out of the attack point..."

"Good, then, I guess we'll be on our way..." Vernon started for the door.

"No one's leaving!" O'Donoghue hefted his M1 at the former superintendent, "I'm not taking any chances this mission to free America gets blown by loose lips!"

"Look pal, I haven't had a good meal in two days; I'm starving!" Vernon complained.

"There's canned beans in the ration kits; help yourself," the militant leader told him off. "Gaylord, how's it coming with those bombs!?" he shouted up to one of his men in the upstairs bedrooms.

"One done, another on the way, Hank," Gaylord called down.

"How much longer till the high grade explosives get here!?"

"Probably tomorrow night if they don't hit any snags."

"OK, tomorrow night might work," O'Donoghue paced in a tight circle, "As long as some big national emergency doesn't spring up, Simmons should still be here by then. We need to..."

His radio on the table buzzed. "Hank, it's Ernest, come in," came the voice of another militant over the airwaves.

"I'm here, what've you got?" O'Donoghue picked it up, "Why haven't I heard from you all day...!?"

"I was stuck being supervised down in the hotel laundry room all day; this is the first time I could break away. Hank, I just managed to get a glimpse of the president's schedule; he should be at the music festival right now."

"And did you get a copy of it!?"

"Sure did."

"Excellent. OK, I'll see if there's anything we can do here. Be ever vigilant," O'Donoghue signed off. He rushed outside. "Earl, Simmons is at the music festival; see if you can spot him!" he shouted to one of his men atop one of several sniper nests his command had constructed in the trees near the cabin during the day.

"Give me a minute," Earl called down. Two minutes later, he added, "Think I can make him out, Hank, but I'm not sure if I can get a clear shot."

"If you think you can, let me know, then take it!" O'Donoghue ordered him. He leaned against the tree, not looking at Vernon and Rooney as they came out of the cabin and stared up at the sniper's nests. "What did you get us into, Ed!?" the former mumbled under his breath.

"Just keep telling yourself, 'John Bender ruined my life, John Bender ruined my life,' Richard; this is worth it. And let's keep an ear out," Rooney leaned his head in the direction of the lake, "If there's a party going on, Ferris is bound to be there. And it would only take one good shot to finish him too..."

* * *

"...I need you, you, you, in the morning, well my soul's on fire! When there ain't no one around, I need you, you, you; I need you!" Jake emphatically finished the fifth song of his set to a major applause. Ferris added his own applause from the wings with the others. Figuring that the time was right for his idea, he walked out to the center of the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, wasn't that just wonderful?" he asked the crowd, who cheered again. "I thought so too. Well, no doubt you've followed Jake and Elwood's careers all this time," he told everyone, "And even though they've been known to sometimes stretch the law to their advantage, they have done lots of good for so many people. Most notably, of course, keeping the orphanage they grew up in open. But over the years, they've also committed numerous other acts of kindness to the disadvantaged in the Chicago area and beyond on their ongoing mission from God. Whatever crimes they've committed, I think they've more than made up for them. So, Mr. President, how about an official pardon for Jake and Elwood here?" he posed to the nation's leader.

All eyes turned to Simmons as he gestured for a microphone back in the crowd. "Jacob E. Blues, Elwood J. Blues, by the power vested in me as president of the United States of America, I hereby grant you both pardons for any and all crimes you may have committed," he declared.

The crowd cheered again-although this was counterbalanced by clear angry shouts from the state troopers in the back of the crowd. "Hey, thanks, kid," Jake commended Ferris, patting him on the back, "You're all right."

"Glad to assist two men on an ongoing mission from God any way I can," Ferris told him with a smile, "Just try and stay out of trouble going forward..."

"Can't promise, but we'll try," Jake raised an eyebrow at him.

"Tell you what, guys, before you go, my friends and I wouldn't mind jamming with you for one last song," Ferris told them, waving the other teens out on stage, "What I have in mind isn't exactly a blues number, but if you could play it..."

"Kid, we may be the Blues Brothers, but we can play anything: jazz, acid, country, western, you name it," Jake told him, lowering his sunglasses to look Ferris right in the eye, "What've you got in mind?"

Ferris pulled both brothers close and whispered his request to them. Jake and Elwood nodded in agreement, then turned and mouthed the request to the band. "OK, we're going to do one last number here, everyone, and I think you'll know this one," Elwood told the crowd, "Feel free to get up and sing along with us, because like we said earlier, music can bring us as together as a country, and as humanity."

"One, two, one, two, three, four!" Jake shouted out for the band to kick into the song. The moment the familiar tune rose up, a majority of the crowd started cheering excitedly. "Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world," Jake belted out the opening line, "She took the midnight train going anywhere..."

"Just a city boy," Elwood joined in, "born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train going anywhere..."

"And best wishes to you too, Tony Soprano, wherever you are," Ferris couldn't helping declaring out loud. He glanced down into the crowd during the ensuing bridge. "Looks like the Illinois Highway Patrol isn't too happy you guys just got your pardons," he whispered to the brothers, gesturing at swarms of angry-looking state troopers pushing their way through the now jumping and dancing crowd towards the stage with shotguns in hand.

"Can't blame them; they've been chasing after us for years, and now they can't do it anymore," Jake mused, "Elwood, can you get it in place to get us out of here by the time the song ends?" he hissed to his brother.

"Will do, Jake," Elwood started digging around in his pocket, dancing aside to let Ferris slide up to the center microphone and continue the song: "A singer in a smoky room; the smell of wine and cheap perfume. For a smile, they can share the night; it goes on and on...you all know the lyrics, everyone; hit it!"

"Strangers waiting up and down the boulevard; their shadows searching in the night!" the crowd happily sang along with everyone on stage, "Streetlight people living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the night!"

"You got it!" Ferris commended them. "Great isn't it, Cameron, being able to perform with these two legends live in person?" he danced backwards to ask his best friend behind him.

"Actually, yeah, Ferris," Cameron managed a grin, "If I'd stayed home, I'd never have this experience."

"There, you're getting a lot better," Ferris glanced back out at the approaching cops in the audience, "Tell Natalie to have her security detail block the stage to those guys so Jake and Elwood can get out of here, and make it look natural...I'm on again," he slid back forward. "Working hard to get my fill," he continued the song, "Everybody wants a thrill, paying anything to roll the dice," he mimed doing so, "just one more time..."

"Some will win, some will lose, some were born to sing the blues," Jake and Elwood pointed at each other and high fived, "Oh the movie never ends; it goes on and on and on and on...!"

"Come on, Mr. President, get on up, I don't see you dancing with everyone else!" Ferris called out to the nation's leader. Simmons did indeed stand up at this point, dragging his visibly reluctantly wife to her feet, and then the other notable government officials in his area as well. Ferris now turned his attention to his right, where Elwood had pulled a small remote control out of his pocket while dancing across the stage. The taller Blues Brother pressed a large red button on it, then twisted a small wheel rapidly. "So you've actually got it on remote control now?" Ferris asked after cartwheeling over to him.

"They really messed up that second movie they made on us, but it wasn't a total loss for Jake and me, as it gave me this idea for quick escapes," Elwood explained, "I just hope I parked close enough to the stage..."

"Just keep the refrain going until it's in place. I bought you some time too," Ferris gestured down below, where Secret Service men now stood in the state troopers' way on both sides of the stage. Shouting angrily, the cops were still trying to push past them, but the agents were holding firm for the moment. "Front and center everyone, all together, here we go!" Ferris called to the other teens, who rushed forward to join him and the Blues Brothers for the big finish: "Don't stop believing; hold on to that feeling! Street lights, peeoplllllllle...!"

* * *

"You hear him!? That's Ferris for sure!" Rooney shouted to Vernon, pointing through the trees at the lake. Vernon leaned his own head toward the lake. "I think you're right, Ed, that's Bueller..." he mused.

"You, give me that!" Rooney grabbed the rifle off the passing Moose and scrambled up the ladder to the sniper platform on the tree next to Earl's. "Move over, you; this is personal!" he shoved the militant standing watch on the platform aside and scanned the lake. "Where are, you little...aha," he grinned darkly; even at a distance, it was clearly Ferris on the stage, dancing with the main act. "OK, Ferris, game over," he snarled, taking aim at the stage and putting Ferris's figure right in the gun's crosshairs. He reached for the trigger...

...but it was then that the band's saxophone player strode forward right in front of Ferris, ruining the shot. "No, no, get out of the way, you jackass!" Rooney muttered under his breath. The saxophonist, however, remained in place, and Ferris was completely blocked behind him.

"Hank, I think I've got a shot!" Earl called down to his commander excitedly in the adjoining tree.

"If you've got it, take it!" O'Donoghue shouted back up just as excitedly. Rooney, who had turned sideways at the sound of the conversation, turned back to see Ferris had moved into the clear again in the center of the stage. "Time to say good night, Ferris," he growled, reaching for the trigger again...

...but paused when he heard a gnawing sound from the ground below. He glanced over the side of the platform to see a trio of beavers eating away at his tree, which now started to sway dangerously. "No, no, get out of here you oversized rodents!" Rooney shouted at them, waving his arms frantically at them. He aimed the gun downwards, but it was too late; with a loud cracking sound, the tree toppled sideways, taking a now screaming Rooney with it-or at least it took him partway down before it brushed by Earl's tree, which Rooney was slammed hard into. Moaning, he slid very slowly down its trunk to the ground. The falling tree, meanwhile, smashed one of its branches into Earl's head seconds before he could pull the trigger on the president. The impact sent him flying out of the tree to the ground with a loud thud. "Damn it!" an enraged O'Donoghue ranted, kicking the fallen tree where it had landed, "We had him, we could have had him! Get out of here!" he roared at the beavers, cocking his M1 and taking aim at them. "Hank, Hank, no, you'll give us away!" Earl grabbed his arm before he could fire, "We'll get another shot!"

"All right. Pick him up!" O'Donoghue pointed contemptuously at Rooney, storming back into the cabin. Vernon helped the groaning Rooney up first. "Feeling all right, Ed?" he asked him.

"I just fell off a damn tree, Richard, how do you think I feel!?" Rooney growled at him, stumbling around dazedly, "I had him, I had him right in the crosshairs...come on," he dragged Vernon back towards the cabin as well, "Maybe we can peruse one of their bombs and sneak into the hotel, have their inside man take care of them...!"

* * *

"Don't stop believing; hold on to that feeellliiiingg...!" Ferris continued the refrain with the Blues Brothers on stage, putting his hands on their shoulders and posing for Sloane, who took their picture with her phone. He turned to the right to see a familiar black and white police car with a massive loudspeaker on the roof being remotely maneuvered into position in front of the stage. "Well, good luck, guys," he commended Jake and Elwood, "Nice to be able to jam with you."

"Good luck to you, Ferris Bueller," Elwood commended him. He stopped the Bluesmobile directly in front of Jake and himself, then pulled a trigger on the remote control to open the front doors. "Don't stop believing!" he and Jake belted out the refrain one final time before diving off the stage into the Bluesmobile and burning rubber in a flash. Shouting angry obscenities, the cops forced their way past the Secret Service agents and opened fire on the former police car, but all of them failed to hit it. They rushed for their cruisers, and soon the air was thick with the sounds of sirens roaring. "You think they'll be all right?" Sloane asked, leaning over Ferris's shoulder.

"They'll never get caught," Ferris grinned, "They're still on a mission from God. Now, I wonder how many cops' watches are going to get broken before this night's over?"

No one had an answer to that. Ferris checked his watch. "OK, get ready to roll it," he told Natalie, who bustled off stage towards her laptop. "All right, Lake Olafsson, we hope you liked that special performance," he told the crowd, "Now it's time for a movie. According to our schedule, we were going to see a French film tonight, but unfortunately, that did not arrive in time. So, instead, I've got a better cinematic experience for your pleasure this evening. Who all saw White Tiger in theaters this summer?"

A loud cheer rose up. "I did too, and I loved it as much as you did as well," Ferris told them, "So, since you're all a great crowd, we're going to show it to you again-and, to make the experience even better, we'll begin with the one thing that makes every movie epic, and that is of course the most thrilling seventy seconds in the history of television, digitally remastered for an optimum viewing experience. So sit back and relax, Lake Olafsson, it's movie time!" he gestured grandly to Natalie, who hit the Enter button on the laptop. The crowd broke into a louder cheer as a familiar cloudbank appeared on the large movie screen behind the stage, one that quickly dissolved into an equally familiar miniature city. "You were able to get this as well as the movie, Ferris?" an amazed Claire whispered in his ear.

"And pyrotechnics too, Claire my fair," Ferris informed her, clapping his hands over his head to get the crowd clapping as well, "And popcorn and other refreshments for everyone else. If we were going to watch a movie, I figured it only right to make it a truly immersive experience for everyone...are you ready!?" he asked the crowd, noticing the camera zooming up into outer space on the screen. They cheered in delight again. "HERE...WE...GO!" Ferris reared his arm back and thrust it at the screen at the exact moment the star gate exploded open and the HBO starship began its flight towards the foreground. "Anyone who has a fantasy, come with me, come with me!" he crooned out lyrics to the footage, "We're crossing over to a place and time, it's a place you'll find, hidden deep in your mind...and if you're wondering, folks," he looked over his shoulder again, "These in fact ARE the theme's actual lyrics. So the more you know..."

"What are you going on about with that, Bueller!?" a frowning Bender glared at him.

"Like I said, John, you probably wouldn't understand. And for the big finish...!" Ferris thrust his arm skyward at the exact moment fireworks were set off and exploded overhead in conjunction with the end of the opening. "The following movie has been rated PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association of America," he also rambled off the words on the vintage rating screen they'd attached to the feature, "Some material may be inappropriate for young children. Parents may wish to consider whether it should be viewed by those under thirteen. And so, let's enjoy the film!" he waved the other teens to the side of the stage, where folding chairs and popcorn were waiting for them. "Well, nothing much left to see in this chapter, everyone," he glanced backwards again, "Might as well go on to the next one..."


	8. Romance Under the Stars

"I hate having to be dragged out my room for this after everything I was put through earlier," Speaker Begelman grumbled on the beach in the evening darkness.

"It's just fifteen minutes of our time, Bruce, and it might prove worth a look," the president pro tempore told him.

"We don't have the money for this in the budget, Henry...!"

"If I like what I see, make the money happen, Bruce," the president advised him calmly. "Just about ready, Miss Winters?" he asked Melissa, who was checking the last set of wires attached to one of her rockets on the beach.

"I think so," she held her cell phone in front of it as a de facto flashlight. "OK, everyone step back," she waved the other teens back away from the rocket and grabbed for the control box.

"Fire it up, let's see what we got!" Claire encouraged her excitedly.

"Yeah, launch it high!" Sloane added. Melissa took a deep breath. "OK, in five, four, three, two, one..." she threw the launch switch...

"...but instead of taking off, the rocket burst into flames and toppled over on its side. "Uh oh, I don't think we wanted a replay of Apollo 1," Ferris shook his head.

"Houston, we have an unrepairable problem," Bender cracked, prompting another hard elbow from Claire. "What now!? Why are none of my jokes supposed to be funny!?" he demanded, "This is...!"

"Shhh!" Allison hissed at him. "What went wrong?" she asked Melissa as the latter rushed forward to examine the wreckage.

"I could swear I had this all hooked up right...!" the blonde mused out loud worriedly, shoveling sand over the burning rocket to extinguish the flames, "Fuel intake seemed right, the protective walls should have held...did I give it too much of an electrical charge...!?"

"Well, try another one," Ferris handed a second rocket to her.

"We don't have all night for this...!" Begelman protested, "If this doesn't work...!"

"It'll work," Brian told him off, helping Melissa plug the second rocket in to the launch cables, "Just give her a fair chance."

"It is ten thirty at night...!" the Speaker muttered in disgust, shivering in the rapidly cooling air. After about five minutes, Melissa finished hooking everything up. "OK, fuel's set, cables are set, don't throw it too rapidly..." she told herself, her face contorted with worry. "All right," she grabbed the control box again, "Three, two, one..."

She threw the switch again, and the rocket did launch-but spiraled sideways, smacking the asleep on his feet vice president square in the face. "Huh? What's going on?" he looked around dazedly.

"Nothing, Doug, absolutely nothing!" Begelman muttered, "Mr. President, it's clear she's got nothing," he all but pleaded the commander in chief, oblivious to Melissa's moan of grief and frustration, "Can we please put this matter to rest; these rockets simply do not work, and to pursue this any further would be a massive waste of our time."

"They'll work, Mr. Speaker, these are just little errors! Will you just excuse us for one moment!?" Brian took Melissa by the hand and led her down the beach. "I'm bombing, I'm blowing the biggest test of my life...!" she whimpered miserably.

"OK, just take deep breaths and relax; you and I both know you can do this," Brian took her other hand and gave her a hopeful look, "I know exactly what you're feeling; when I blew my shop project, I was exactly the same way as you are now. But we've launched these in your backyard all throughout the summer, and they all went up perfectly there. So just take a deep breath and think over carefully what we're doing wrong here. I believe in you, all of us except Mr. Begelman believe in you. So let's go back and prove him wrong about you."

"I don't know, Brian, there's got to be something I'm not seeing here, something miniscule and...!"

"We'll find it. Just keep telling yourself, 'I've got this, I've got this.' I'm right here if you need my help with this, don't forget. 'I've got this,' just keep saying; you'll launch it yet."

"OK. I've got this, I've got this, I've got this..." Melissa inhaled deeply and walked back over to the launch site. "Is this going to work, Miss Winters?" the president asked, looking a little unsure himself now.

"I've got this," Melissa repeated it to him. She took another rocket off Ferris, plugged it in, twisted the launcher so it angled further out into the lake, and once more examined it like a hawk in the light of her cell phone. "Oh, that's it!" she smacked her head in relief, "I had the cords plugged into the wrong outlets...!"

"This is your last chance, missy, so hurry it up!" the Speaker demanded. Melissa quickly switched the cords to different outlets and took hold of the control box again. "OK, God willing..." she visibly crossed her fingers, "I've got this, in five, four, three, two, one...!"

She hesitantly threw the switch. With a shower of flame and sparks, the rocket blasted off from the launch pad and arced over the lake. "Houston, we have liftoff!" Ferris cheered, high-fiving everyone within arm's length.

"Wait, wait, if it's working right, it's not over yet!" a much happier Melissa waved everyone off and pointed to the projectile arcing over the lake. With a low bang, the first stage separated from the rocket and the second ignited. "And, and, and...!" she kept her finger on it when, after another thirty seconds, a third stage ignited. "Yes!" she pumped her fist excitedly.

"Looks good to me, Miss Winters," the president applauded, "I think you've got a winning proposition with this design."

"That was one successful test out of three; I need to see more!" Speaker Begelman protested.

"You want more, you've got more. Once more, Melissa, my dear," Ferris handed her a fourth rocket. She hooked this one up as well, and, after throwing the switch, launched it just as perfectly as the previous one, with the same impressive results once airborne. "All right, Henry, Bruce," Simmons turned to the two congressional leaders, "We had a deal; the budget for next year gets more money for space programs first thing Congress is back in session. And..." he paused while the teens cheered and embraced, "...call up Gene at Cape Canaveral and tell him I'd like to see the designs we've seen here utilized on at least one project."

"Well, Mr. President, I think we can make that work," the president pro tempore nodded, convinced of the rockets' capabilities, "It's good to see that ingenuity is still alive and well among America's youth, right Bruce?"

"Well you can forget it, because the answer's no," Begelman said sternly, bringing the beach to abrupt silence, "Success or not, to pursue this project is still a waste of time and money. It's not getting into any bill submitted to the House, and if it does, I'm not calling a vote."

"Bruce, we had an agreement...!" Simmons told him firmly.

"...to look, Mr. President. But as I've said before, we don't have the money. So no, I'm not putting it in, and that's final," the Speaker turned to leave.

"No, no, no, you're not going to do this!" outraged, Brian stormed into his path and blocked him, "You made a promise to Melissa that you'd give her rockets a green light if she proved herself, and she just did, even though you clearly had no intention of giving her a fair chance in the first place...!"

"Fifty percent's not good enough for me, kid. And by the way, if you and your little brat friends there hadn't humiliated me this evening," Begelman jerked a contemptuous finger at the other teens, "maybe I'd have a more open mind. But since you did, consider this your just desserts. Because Bruce D. Begelman does not get humiliated by anyone, ha!"

He tried to step around Brian, but Melissa's boyfriend blocked him again. "You're not leaving this beach until you put the funding in the bill and clear her rockets for use by NASA!" he warned the Speaker, "And if you don't, well, I'm sure someone like you has some skeletons in your closet that the press might want to know about!"

"How dare you try and blackmail me, you little rat!" Begelman bellowed at him, "Well, for your information, I have no skeletons...!"

"Oh really, Mr. Speaker!? How about the bill you fast-tracked to the floor cutting EPA funding after you had that meeting in your office with the Kash brothers' men!?" Natalie stepped forward, glaring at him, "I was visiting Capitol Hill with Dad on that day; I saw them go in your office, and I know the Kashes want all the pollution limits in this country removed to help their oil companies suck every well dry! From what I saw from the galley, you happily suspended normal House procedures to get it passed; I think the press would love to know about that!"

"That is a gross misrepresentation of the facts, Miss Simmons! Everything I did was perfectly legal...!"

"Then explain how a heavily supported common sense bipartisan gun law got buried earlier this year without ever seeing a chance to be voted on!?" Brian angrily challenged him on another matter, "Winston LeJean at the NRA was railing against it like there was no tomorrow on TV; did he offer you money or threaten to expose you for something else if you didn't bury it!?"

"Again, nothing illegal happened, and you do yourself no favors railing against the National Rifle Association, which has done worlds of good for this country, and...!"

"Yes, the National Rifle Association does do lots of good in this country helping firearm owners learn how to use their weapons, among other things. But Winston LeJean is clearly as corrupt as they come; he's buried numerous common sense solutions since he took over the organization by likely bribing and threatening lots of sitting congresspersons, and it looks pretty likely to me you took the money to do his bidding that time! So if we don't have your word right now on a vote with the funding and Melissa's rockets, we're taking those possible scandals and anything else we can dig up on you to every reputable news outlet we can! And don't think we can't do it; as Mr. Beard can tell you, Ferris and his friends already brought down Senator Bob Tannen for his racketeering earlier this summer," Brian gestured at Ferris, Sloane, and Cameron. "So what's it going to be, Mr. Begelman!? A few extra dollars in the budget, or your career possibly collapsing in scandal!?"

"Your move, Bruce," the president all but dared him with a confident expression. Begelman growled in rage. "All right, all right, you win!" he bellowed, "But this is organized blackmail, and none of what you claimed is true! So you get nothing else from me going forward-and with all due respect, Mr. President, you have just lost my respect as a fair negotiating partner!" he turned to Simmons, "Whatever you want from me going forward for the rest of your term, you have to pay a big price for it! Good night, all of you!"

He stomped furiously off the beach. Melissa let out a cry of delight and leaped into Brian's arms. "We did it, we did it!" she gushed happily.

" _You_ did it," he told her, hugging her close, "You earned this."

"She sure did," Ferris agreed, tapping Melissa on the shoulder and extending a palm for her to high five. "Well, as it is getting late, I bid you all good night," he told everyone else, "You can do whatever you want the rest of the evening." He walked over to Andrew as everyone started splitting up to go their own ways and whispered to him, "Don't worry, we'll get you in shape for the big showdown tomorrow."

"Need you remind me, Ferris?" Andrew gave him a worried expression.

"Important to remind often, Andy-san; otherwise match creep up from behind without warning, and leave you unprepared," Ferris answered by channeling Mr. Miyagi. He followed most of the others back towards the lodge. Andrew shook his head and walked over to Allison, who was standing at the waterline. "Want to go for that boat ride now?" he offered.

"Sure would," she turned and grinned. The two of them walked down the beach to where the private boats were moored. "Liking it so far?" he asked her.

"I am," she nodded.

"Better than the senior class trip when Ferris managed to get all of us into the White House?"

"Actually, yeah. Back then I felt like I was lost in the whole crowd; here I feel like I'm having more fun in a smaller group."

"That's how I'm feeling too," Andrew said. He turned to her. "That was pretty sweet what you asked the president to do for Andie earlier," he commended her, "Back at the beginning of the year, I hardly had any idea she existed, but since we started going together, I can see why the two of you are friends."

"I wouldn't really call her an inner, inner circle friend, but since we live so close by each other, we have been reasonably good friends all these years. So I felt I needed to do something for her as she goes out into the real world," Allison confessed, "I just hope I'm doing the right thing," she grew unsure, "Like I said, she does have a bit of a grudge against her mother for leaving her and her father, and if they do find her and it turned ugly when they were face to face again..."

"Tell me, do you really think the president'll be able to find her?" Andrew asked.

"To be honest, no," his girlfriend shook her head, "Not after all this time. But I figured it couldn't hurt to ask."

"Mmm," Andrew mused. He came to a stop as they approached the docks. "Give me your honest opinion, Allison, should I go ahead with it tomorrow with Ahmed?" he posed to her, looking uncertain himself.

"It's really your call, Andy," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "I'd like you to, but if you don't really want to..."

"Guess I have no choice now, then; everyone expects it, and I don't want to look like a coward," he conceded, "So I guess we'll train however Ferris wants us to train and get it over with. Hopefully we can still have fun tomorrow, though. Well, shall we?"

He picked Allison up in his arms and carried her aboard the nearest boat. "What do you think your parents would say if they knew you weren't knocking back at Claire's country estate, but about to go for a romantic cruise on a big Wisconsin lake?" he asked her grandly, starting the boat's engine.

"Who knows?" Allison shrugged indifferently, slouching down in the bow, "They'd never check where I was anyway. Do you know Mom completely forgot my last birthday?" she gritted her teeth in frustration.

"You never mentioned that before," Andrew frowned in concern, "That's awful..."

"Forget it. Her heart's too far dead for me to care anymore. Spends all her time working, almost never checks in on me, and Dad, when he does have custody rights, isn't much better," his girlfriend muttered, staring out at the lake, "College can't come fast enough for me; time I start my own life and try to stand out on my own. But promise me, Andy," she leaned forward, her expression softening, "Promise me you'll come back from Iowa at least a few times? I don't want to lose you completely..."

"I'll be back, I promise," he rubbed her chin, "I probably won't tell Mom and Dad-I'd like some distance from them myself-but I feel like I'd owe you. No matter where I go, I won't forget..."

"So you're going out too?" Brian was rushing up to an adjoining boat with Melissa, both of them with telescopes in hand, "Race you to the middle of the lake, then!"

"All right, on your mark...go!" Andrew gunned the engine and zoomed out into the lake at high speed to Allison's shout of delight. "Pour it on, Andy...bye!" she waved goodbye to Brian and Melissa on the docks, "Take me all around the lake like Ferris did earlier; I want to relive that again!" she begged Andrew.

"As you wish," he turned the boat in a wide arc, "I'm going to make this one night we won't forget."

* * *

"Another good day, wasn't it?" Ferris asked Sloane as the elevator opened up at their floor.

"Definitely," she gave him a kiss, "So what's on the slate for tomorrow?"

"Only time will tell, but I have a few ideas...of course, I hope everyone can go," Ferris's gaze went to Bender about to enter the boys' suite down the hall. "John," he called out to him.

"What now, Bueller!? I'm ready for bed!" the criminal growled back at him.

"Just want to say, we missed you this afternoon," Ferris approached him.

"Yeah, right," Bender wasn't buying it, "You were all glad to be rid of me, weren't you?"

"John, most of us do want to share the vacation with you," Sloane joined her boyfriend, "Including Claire. I think she just would like to hear..."

"What, that I'm sorry for telling it like it is!? I have nothing to be sorry about!"

"Let's be honest, John, you did kind of put Claire in a bad spot when you went on your tirade," Sloane emphasized, "If she got upset with you, you can't blame her. And running from her's not going to make the problem go away..."

"Who says I'm running from anything!? I want to believe in her, I really do, but I get the feeling she just doesn't trust me to be myself," Bender said strongly, looking pained, "I'd like to hear from her that my side of the equation'll be respected as much as hers."

"Then don't run from her, talk to her. Tell her how you feel."

"I did, and she brushed me off and tried to dictate to me."

"John, I want to be your friend here, but you have to take responsibility for your actions," Ferris told him calmly, "You were admittedly out of..."

"I have to take responsibility!? Coming from Ferris Bueller, who ditched school every chance he could get!? Don't make me laugh, Bueller," Bender brushed him off, "I want my respect as a human, and until I get it, I'm not going to blindly follow you along to kiss up to the prez's backside."

"Really, John, it's not like you didn't randomly ditch school just as often..."

"Good night, Bueller." Bender told him off firmly, closing the door hard behind himself. Ferris shook his head. "I tried," he shrugged to Sloane.

"It's disappointing when he plays the victim card so much," Sloane shook her own head, "I get that he has it rough at home, and that some of what his father puts him through can't help rubbing off on him, but he's not going to get any headway with Claire or the rest of them if he can't man it up."

"Well, there's still time to steer him in the right direction. In the meantime, we'll let him get some rest. So, how about we take James Taylor's advice and go up on the roof?" Ferris proposed, "It looks like Cameron and Natalie were going up that way themselves."

"Might as well then," Sloane took his arm and joined him in ascending the stairs to the hotel's roof. And indeed, Cameron and Natalie were laying on their stomachs in front of the latter's laptop in the center of the roof, surrounded by the sharpshooters on guard duty. "Having fun, kids?" Ferris called to them.

"Just updating the White House's official website with a couple of the photos we took today," Natalie told him, "I've been practically running the site myself since we moved in a few years ago; that's one thing I will miss when we go home next year. But to be back in Michigan, within reasonable distant of my old friends, that's more than worth it."

"I made her promise, no photos of us, at least not yet, so our cover doesn't get blown," Cameron pointed out to his best friend.

"And not to worry, Cameron, you and your friends' cover's safe with me," Natalie assured him.

"I'm sure," Ferris sat down next to them, "Say, Natalie, if the Speaker tries to go back on his word about Melissa's rockets at any point this week, can you get into and empty his bank account from here, just in case we need a contingency plan?"

"I guess I could," Natalie broke into laughter, "You never stop fighting the good fight, Ferris Bueller."

"He sure doesn't," Cameron mumbled, staring at the laptop's screen. "You'll have to teach me more about this at some point," he informed the president's daughter, "You, well, got me interested a little in computer things."

"I'll be glad to, Cameron," she told him with a smile, "I'm sure we'll have plenty of spare time at Albion for that. What are you majoring in anyway?"

"Actually, I committed for political science. I...well...I've been thinking about entering politics myself lately," Cameron admitted, "I, well, have some doubts; I'm worried I'll get corrupted like half the politicians in Illinois and everywhere else tend to, but...I've found that I want to make a difference, and politics might be the way to do it. So if your dad would have any pointers to give after he leaves office..."

"What about me?" the president and First Lady were coming up to the roof themselves now.

"Cameron's thinking of following in your footsteps, Dad," his daughter told him.

"Really? Well, Cameron, in that case, I'd be glad to assist," the president gave Cameron an encouraging nod.

"Much appreciated, sir," Cameron nodded, "Having been, well, a neurotic wreck for so long, I've got no public speaking talent, so any advice you would have would help."

"I know a lot of politicians who started out like that, so it's no problem," Simmons sat down on the roof and inhaled. "Isn't the view just lovely, Nancy?" he put an arm around his wife and pointed towards the lake.

"It's not bad," she agreed, "It's been so long since we've been out in the country like this..."

"Way too long," the commander in chief shook his head, "Besides making the mistake of forgetting about Natalie too many times, we also cut ourselves off from nature all these years in the governor's mansion and the White House. We need to get back to getting out more."

"Something good's happened to you since the beginning of summer, Matthew; I haven't seen you this energized in a long time," she lauded him.

"I've learned a vital lesson, Nance: life moves by fast, and if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it," the president turned to Ferris and gave him a thumbs-up.

"I agree wholly, Mr. President, sir," Ferris agreed, "Ever our country's leaders can...ah, Claire, glad you could join us," he noticed the wealthy girl coming through the door to the roof herself.

"Evening...hey, I'm not a threat, guys!" Claire protested to the sharpshooters, who'd spun and taken aim in her direction. They relaxed and turned back away. "Just enjoying the view, Mr. President?" she inquired, coming over to their location.

"You bet; it's been too long since I've enjoyed the scenery anywhere," Simmons said, waving his daughter to come over to join her mother and he. He put an arm around Natalie, then continued, "Remember that ferry cruise on Lake Michigan when we were dating, Nancy? The music played, the food came in buckets, and we danced the night away. We knew how to enjoy life then. We've got to get back to that somehow after we leave office."

"That seems like a lifetime ago," the First Lady mused nostalgically, "But would there be anything left in the North Shore area to go back to? Both our parents are gone, probably half the people we knew moved out..."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you're both originally from the North Shore too," Claire realized.

"Kenilworth born and raised; my wife came from Highland Park," the president confirmed it, "And we both enjoyed growing up there..."

"Well there's always room in Shermer for anyone who wants to come, Mr. President," Ferris told him, "We may be a small town, but we're welcome to anyone, rich or poor."

"Good to know. At least the hospitality of the North Shore never changes," the First Lady dug out what appeared to be a locket, opened it up, and stared at the photos inside. "Is that your family?" Sloane leaned over her shoulder.

"Yes, way back when. My parents, my sister and I. Back when times were good in Highland Park. But those days are gone now..."

"You miss them?" Cameron asked next.

"Sometimes. It's amazing when you look back at the past how much people you didn't think meant that much to you then mean now."

"Well, I guess you could call your sister if you need to," Claire started to point out.

"She died, a long time ago," Natalie told her with a sad shake of the head, "I never got to meet her. I would have liked to."

"And we weren't on good terms when we last saw each other," the First Lady shook her own head, "We had a huge fight and lost our tempers and screamed that we didn't care to see each other again. And we didn't, after that. If I could do it over again now, I'd do it a lot differently..."

"I know, Nance. But you'll always have the memories of the good times, and no one can take that away," her husband squeezed her close, "And hopefully we can make new memories going forward."

He stood up and stretched. "I guess that's enough fresh air and lamenting about days gone by for now. Coming in with us, honey?" he asked his daughter.

"Guess so, Dad," Natalie squirmed over to her laptop and closed it down. "Have a good night," she bade the Shermer students farewell for the evening, "It was wonderful to see you all again, especially you, Cameron."

She blew a kiss in his direction before following her parents downstairs. "See, Cam, it wasn't a dream; she does still care," Ferris grinned at his best friend. "And how've we been doing?" he turned to Claire, "We missed you today..."

"I know. Um, Ferris, there's something I do need to tell you about, but for the moment, I'd appreciate it if you and your friends could keep it secret from Bender for now..." Claire took a deep breath, "After I left, I met a guy, he seems nice-he was the one I went riding with. He looks like he could be someone I'd like..."

"And you're afraid Bender'll go ballistic if he finds out, right?" Cameron nodded.

"Well, kind of, Cameron, but also...the part of me that does have feelings for him's afraid of hurting him," she confessed, "He's been hurt enough in this life, even if he keeps taking the wrong paths, and...well, I guess you get the idea. I hate having to choose between two guys who each offer something for me," she lowered her head, "It's been the same way all my life, having to pick between Mom and Dad when they'd get into their titanic fights, even though I didn't really want to and I could tell they were both wrong..."

"We understand," Sloane told her sympathetically, putting an arm around her, "You have to choose what's right for Claire Standish. Do you think you'll see this boy again?"

"Probably. He's an aide to the Speaker of the House, so he'll probably be at the conferences this week," Claire's expression brightened, "Hopefully he can get time off; I'd like to have him come with us so I'd get a better idea of who he may be. But again, not a word to Bender for now, OK?"

"Our lips are sealed," Ferris made a zipping motion across his lips.

"Although if the guy's going to be at the conference, John's going to find out one way or another," Cameron shuddered, "And I just want to be far away when that happens."

"I hope it doesn't come to that, Cameron, I really don't," Claire winced. She turned at the sound of excited cries from the lake. "So I guess everyone's enjoying it out there?" she leaned over the roof's wall, her smile returning.

"Yep; near as we can see from here, the double As are reenacting tonight's earlier cruise, and the science wizzes are doing a little stargazing to celebrate their great victory," Ferris said, pointing at the outlines of the boats on the lake.

"Great," Claire's smile got wider. "You know, it's really ironic in a way," she said out loud, "A couple of us were worried about Brian ending up the odd one out in detention, and now he's got the happiest relationship out of all of us. So we really had nothing to worry about with him. And it's really been great to see him blossom as a person after he and Melissa started dating; she's brought out such wonderful character traits in him that I think he never knew he had. So I hope they really do have a long term future; what they've had these last few months has turned out to be really special..."

* * *

"There, there goes another one!" Melissa excitedly pointed at the night sky out on the lake.

"Where?" Brian rapidly turned his telescope to follow her finger.

"Right between Merak and Dubhe; keep watching, maybe we'll get another one," she said, training her own telescope intently on the Big Dipper.

"I'm not sure if...I've got another one, going through Draco!" it was Brian's turn to point.

"I see it, I see it! This is the best shower I've seen in a long time!" she exclaimed happily, "Twenty already since we came out; the Perseids haven't been this good for at least three years...right there, three of them in Andromeda!"

"Got them!" he noted the streaking meteors going through the constellation in question. "Wouldn't it be great if a comet came through here too, especially if it was one they hadn't discovered yet, and we could name it together?"

"I would love to have a comet named after me," she sighed with delight, "Winters' Comet; even if it passed through in the summer like this, that has a nice ring to it...really big one, passing by Jupiter!" she pointed at another meteor. "It's so beautiful up here," she mused out loud, "And this is the clearest I've seen the stars in a long time; it's great to be this far away from urban pollution."

"Yeah, it really is beautiful up there. But you know," Brian turned his telescope sideways towards her, "There's lots of things that are even more beautiful on this planet right now..."

"Oh stop!" she teased him, giving him a playful shove. "Oh no, clouds," she sighed, seeing a large bank of them streaking across the sky now, blotting out a good part of the heavens, "I hate when they have to intrude on a perfect night..."

"Hopefully they'll pass soon," Brian reasoned, laying down his telescope and leaning back against the side of the boat to wait for the sky to clear again.

"Hope so," Melissa did the same. "I just want to say thank you so much for helping me today, Brian," she commended him, giving him a warm kiss on the cheek, "I just know I would have given in to my own doubt and botched the whole presentation to the president if you hadn't been a rock standing behind me the whole time. These may be my rocket designs, but this is your victory too."

"Well, more yours than mine," he rubbed her shoulder, "I just want to work with you on them wherever you go from here. And like I said, I've felt what you felt today myself loads of times; you just have to push yourself to get it done, to believe you can do it."

"I'll keep that in mind going forward," Melissa shivered softly, "It sure does cool down quick here in the summer, though. Good thing I brought a sweater," she gestured at the one she was wearing.

"Mmm hmm," Brian mused, glancing at his own sweater. After a moment's silence, he asked her, "What the best viewing conditions you've ever had, without light pollution?"

"Well," Melissa thought it over, "Probably up in Minnesota when I was eleven. We were visiting my grandparents, who had this big isolated farmhouse way up near Greenbush. Dad drove me out deep into their fields, and it was just magical; everything was crystal clear up in the sky, even the Milky Way. And the Northern Lights made an appearance too that night. It's hard to find proper dark skies around Chicago, although we've searched hard for as many as we can. This is definitely a top five, though," she gestured up at the still cloud-covered sky over the lake.

"Yep," Brian agreed. There was another moment of silence before he asked, "Tell you what, Melissa, why don't we just forget about college?"

"Huh?" she turned to him, confused.

"Why don't we just stay out here on the lake for the rest of our lives, just you, me, and the cosmos?" he proposed, "No worries, no schoolwork, no job hassles, just relaxing peace and quiet?"

"Tag, you're it!" came Andrew and Allison's simultaneous shout to them as they zoomed past the brains' boat again for the third time in the last half hour. "You win," Brian waved to them. "Well, mostly peace and quiet," he conceded to his girlfriend, "How about it, though?"

"Well I would hate to be that alone, Brian. But yeah, I do appreciate the peacefulness here," she admitted, "And it would be great not having to worry about having all the pressure to get the best grades you can anymore..."

"Speaking of that, I've been meaning to ask," Brian turned to her, "When did you really, really start feeling the pressure to, well, you know, be the smartest one in your class? When did you feel like your parents started to put the squeeze on you for it-unknowingly and innocently in their case, of course?"

"Hmm," Melissa mused softly. "I was eight," she recalled, "I'd gotten a hundred percent on ten straight math tests. Mom was so proud that she got permission for me to come in to her eighth grade math class so she could use my grades to inspire her students. I felt great that she felt that highly of me-but at the same time, I got the impression she wanted nothing less from me from that moment forward. So I started pushing myself harder to maintain myself. And looking back, I sacrificed a lot of happiness to do it, to the point where, right before I started getting really depressed, I just hated myself. How about you?"

"It was the last day of second grade," Brian remembered, "For the first time in my life, I managed to get straight As. Mom and Dad were just so proud; they hugged me and kissed me like there was no tomorrow, and they told me how excited they were that I could be so good. And they took me out for pizza and ice cream to celebrate. I was glad to see them so happy and proud of me, and I wanted to keep it that way. I've always wanted to make them happy more than anything; they just...they've just asked too much of me sometimes. Everything I've done in the classroom since then, I guess I've been trying to get back to that original high, to get that feeling again. And I think they did too, and that's part of why they...they pushed as hard as they did over all the years."

"I'm sorry you had to be put through that," Melissa rubbed his shoulder sympathetically.

"I appreciate it," he smiled at her, "At least they never got physical; they'd get upset if I didn't score as well as they'd hoped sometimes, but at least they never hit or demeaned me. But the more I look at it now that I know more, they're not really the villains; they were running from their own demons all those years. Dad was the son of a college professor who did beat him when he failed to score high enough in the classroom. Mom drove herself to be class valedictorian through sheer will to try and stand out in her extra large family, but at the cost of a few friends who didn't like that she marginalized them while trying to be the best in her class. They've spent all this time trying to escape from all that, but they couldn't, and in a way, they ended up becoming the things they were afraid of. So even though some people might say I have every reason to hate them for pushing me like they have, I just can't hate them, not after knowing now what they went through. Besides, I love and respect them too much to ever hate them. But ever since the competition, they have changed for the better; they tell me now not to worry about what they think and just do what I can on tests, that they love me for being their son. And I'm glad they have changed."

"I guess seeing you lying there in the hospital bed in front of them seemingly dead touched a nerve for them like it did for me," Melissa mused softly.

"You'd have to be really cold-hearted and beyond hope not to have that touch a nerve," Brian agreed, "And thankfully, it did affect them enough to want to change. Even Mary's not as spiteful towards me as she used to be. Which reminds me: that second grade party I mentioned was also the last great moment with just Mom, Dad, and I before they told me Mom was pregnant again. I spent the next year after that living in terror that the new baby would be even smarter than me, and I'd get pushed away and forgotten. But I needn't have worried; if Mary had her way, she'd skip school twice as often as Ferris does."

"You can't get lucky with every kid," Melissa shrugged. "I do think college should be less pressure-packed for us, though. Away from home, no peer pressure from others around us, I hope we really get to blossom."

"I'd be satisfied to make dean's list a little more than half the time we're at Northwestern. But you know what?" Brian turned again and looked deep into her soft brown eyes, "I'd happily fail every course in college if it meant I could have you for all eternity, Melissa. Since we've started going out, I've realized that everything I spent all those years striving for in the classroom isn't as important as having someone around to care for. And I care for you more than anyone I've ever met. I'd do absolutely anything for you: I'd give you all the jewels and gold in the world, I'd crown you as queen of every single nation, I'd fight every bully in the country for your honor, I'd...I'd take a hundred bullets for you if it ever came to that. I'm, I'm not sounding corny or dopey, am I?" he asked her hesitantly.

"Not in the least," she leaned her head into his chest and looked up at him with a deep smile, "They say chivalry's dead, but I know it's not, because I have my very own knight in shining armor, one with the kindest heart of anyone I've ever met. You've done more for me over these last four months than anyone I've known in all the years before, Brian. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you; any girl would want to with someone who treats them as special as you've treated me."

"A beautiful princess like you should always be treated special," he hugged her close, "And you are a true princess, Melissa, and don't ever let anyone tell you any differently, or they'll have to answer to me."

"I love you, Brian Ralph Johnson," her smile got wider.

"I love you, Melissa Christine Winters," he leaned towards her, and soon their lips locked in a passionate kiss. Above them, the clouds had passed, and the stars shone down on the lake again, but the only thing that mattered to them was each other.

* * *

"Congratulations, you two," a beaming Bill Stanpovalichki applauded from the far shore of the lake, watching the romance unfold from afar. "It's always great when two lonely souls who think they'll never find the right person find deep love with each other, Keema," he rubbed his dog on the back, "That makes our job a double pleasure to know we've made two of our former clients that much happier in their lives-even if she doesn't know we were watching over her when she felt suicidal too."

He grabbed hold of the Labrador's leash. "Well, seems like everyone's doing mostly well up here so far," he told the dog, "Of course, we'll still check in every now and then, but I think it's time we enjoy ourselves a little more. What do you say we hike up to the top of the mountain and take in the whole lake tonight?"

Keema answered by whimpering and running behind a log. "What? What's...?" Stanpovalichki stopped and shuddered at an ominous growling in the woods behind them. A large form was moving through the trees-one that did not have any hair on its head or hindquarters. "Good point, Keema," he agreed with his pet, sliding out of sight behind a tree, "Even though we're safe since we're already dead, better wait until the Bald-Headed Bald-Butted Killer Bear of Claire County leaves the area before heading on out of here. Hope it stays away from humans while we're here at the lake, especially our old friends..."


	9. Antagonizing a New Foe

"Rise and shine, you slackers, time to get up!" Moose bent down and barked into Vernon's and Rooney's ears on the floor of the cabin. Both former educators groaned and rolled to their feet. "Are you sure we couldn't at least have had a sleeping bag!?" the former complained.

"The Continental Army went through all kinds of hardships to give us independence, so true patriots like us have to suffer in our fight for freedom," Moose stated matter-of-factually.

"Well I hope that..." Rooney stopped at the sound of O'Donoghue wailing on the back porch. "What's going on with him?" he asked, walking towards it.

"Better not interrupt him," Moose stepped into his path, "When the Captain has an episode, best to leave him alone until it passes."

"Episode?" Vernon leaned over Rooney's shoulder to see O'Donoghue slumped on the back porch with his face in his hands. "Enemy fire at one o'clock in that hotel!" he yelled in anguish to no one in particular, "Watch your back flank...incoming! Jim!? Jim, are you all right!? Medics, we need medics here...!"

He howled and jerked upright, taking deep, pained breaths. Nodding firmly, he rose up to his feet and marched back into the cabin. "Everything's under control, Moose," he told his top aide firmly, "Tell the men to assemble outside for roll call; I want a synopsis on any recon they may have found overnight."

Moose nodded and walked towards the front door. O'Donoghue leaned against a chair. "What!?" he barked at the two former educators, noticing them looking at him, "If you've gone through what I did in Fallujah, with day after day of pure horrors, you'd feel uncomfortable in your own skin, knowing people in your unit were thrown away like old trash by an indifferent government that has betrayed its people on the Jews' orders! All I'm doing on my mission is to guarantee that Americans will be free to avoid suffering like I have! It is time to bring down the tyrants, and by god, I will! Fall out with the others!"

Vernon and Rooney walked after him towards the front door. "We've got to get out of here quick, Ed; this guy's more dangerous than I thought!" the former muttered to the latter.

"I know, I know, but not until we get another lead on those brats," Rooney muttered back, "And get enough firearms to take care of the job."

"You've got something to say!?" O'Donoghue turned back towards him with a glare.

"Uh, no, no, just saying what a wonderful job you've done so far," Rooney said quickly.

"Thank you," O'Donoghue frowned back. "Earl, anything on the morning patrols?" he asked the first man in line.

"Still nothing, Hank; that Secret Service line looks pretty impregnable right now," Earl shook his head.

"All right. Well, let me know when Ernest calls in with his morning report; maybe he can tell us something about Simmons' schedule today we can work with..."

* * *

"On behalf of all of us here, Mr. President, honored guests, welcome to a full course North Woods breakfast," Wally told the commander in chief and everyone else seated at the hotel dining room's tables, "We hope you enjoy the course here."

"Please don't let them break into spontaneous song and dance when they serve it...!" Bender muttered in disgust under his breath. The waiters, however, laid down the plates of food at each table without comment. Near the head of the presidential table, Ferris eagerly took liberal amounts of food from each available plate. "Well," he remarked to Claire, seated to his left, "I guess you can say we truly are the Breakfast Club right about now, huh?"

"Guess so," she agreed, pouring syrup on her French toast. Ferris saw her smile and give a quick wave across the room. He followed her gaze to see Jeremy at the table nearest to the dining room's left wall. He shot a quick glance to his right to make sure Bender wasn't watching (and indeed he wasn't, glancing at the opposite wall with a bored expression while he munched away on scrapple), then dug out a pen and scribbled down on his napkin, IS THAT THE KID YOU MENTIONED LAST NIGHT? He shoved the napkin and pen towards Claire and stared straight ahead, waiting. A minute later, they came back with the response, YES. HIS NAME'S JEREMY. I'D LIKE TO HAVE HIM COME ALONG WITH US TODAY IF HE CAN, BUT...WELL, YOU KNOW. Ferris wrote down next, I CAN PROBABLY COME UP WITH SOMETHING THAT WON'T LEAVE JOHN FEEL LIKE HE'S BEING SHORT-CHANGED. LET'S SEE WHAT THE PREZ'S ITINERARY LOOKS LIKE. He passed it back to Claire again, and this time got back the hesitant response: I HOPE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING. AND SO YOU KNOW, PART OF ME DOES FEEL BAD TO DO THIS, LIKE I'M STABBING BENDER IN THE BACK BY BEING FRIENDLY WITH ANOTHER BOY LIKE THIS. Ferris gave a soft nod. I UNDERSTAND, he wrote a final piece of advice, BUT TRUST ME ON THIS. LIKE SLOANE SAID LAST NIGHT, YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO FEEL HAPPY ONE WAY OR THE OTHER.

He pushed the napkin back again right as President Simmons banged his fork on his glass to get everyone's attention. "Excuse me, everyone," he announced to all the formal officials in the dining room, "I'd like to officially begin this morning's meeting; all of you can continue with your breakfast while we go about this. Does anyone have anything to say before we begin?"

"You know what I want to say, Mr. President; I want a gag order on these kids for the rest of their time here," Speaker Begelman rose to his feet with a scowl, pointing accusingly at the Shermer High students, "They've interfered too much in official business so far on this trip, and I want a guarantee that going forward, they won't intrude into..."

"Overruled, Bruce; I'm liking what I've heard from them so far," the president shot him down, "Anyone else?" he asked the rest of the dining room. No one else said anything. All right, then. Rob," the commander in chief turned to the Secretary of State, "Were you able to get through to some of the embassies I asked you to reach out to?"

"I contacted the embassies in Muscat and Amman; they said they'll pass your proposal on to the right people, Mr. President," Hoffman told him, "I'm still waiting to hear back from Cairo."

"How about Tripoli?"

"That would be easier, Mr. President, if I had any idea who exactly was in charge there right now," the nation's top diplomat said, prompting more than a few laughs.

"I see. Did you call Tel Aviv too and alert Yitzhak about this?"

"I got his secretary; she said he'll have to think about it, especially with you wanting the Palestinians in the organization as well."

"Well I know what to offer him to get him to make some concessions. Your Excellency, have you sent out contacts to your compatriots as well?" the president asked the emir.

"I have," the emir nodded, "Qatar said yes as I supposed. Oman is leaning towards yes but needs more information. Turkey is leaning towards no."

"Oh well, I know how to work with them," Simmons shrugged, "I can twist their arms into saying yes if I can promise aid to fight against some of the more violent separatists with their borders."

"Turkey also had reservations, Matthew, that it looks like you are favoring my country too much by having me as the first leader," the emir told him, "If we can give them and the other undecided countries assurances that everyone will have a fair chance after I step down..."

"Tell you what. You kids have been giving good advice so far; what do you think?" Simmons pivoted to the Shermer High students.

"No, no, I object...!" Begelman shouted.

"Overruled, Bruce..."

"Well, Mr. President," Melissa raised her hand, "Since half the problem in the Middle East seems to be the Sunnis hating the Shiites and vice versa, I think the best way to handle it would be to have the leadership role alternate between each branch of Islam. That way, different Middle Eastern countries can take command at different times. In fact, your Eminence, I believe that's how the Kuwaiti throne passes on right now, right, that it alternates between the two main branches of the royal family?" she asked the emir.

"Indeed it does," he nodded, "Perhaps that may be something we can work off of."

"Yes, I think I'll include that in my next draft proposal," the president grinned, "In fact, I think now I've got a broader idea domestically now too," he rose to his feet. "Nat, honey, how would you like to do something big?" he turned to his daughter, "If I were to start a campaign asking the young people of the nation to send in their advice to us, could you create a section on our official website for them to submit them to?"

"I could do that easy, Dad," Natalie smiled, "When would you want it by?"

"Mr. President, I must object!" palpitating with rage, the Speaker leaped to his own feet, "What you're proposing is a complete and total abdication of responsible government, letting the inmates run the asylum! Trusting major policy decisions to hoards of immature teenagers is as foolish as it...!"

"Now you look here, Mr. Speaker!" it was Cameron's turn to surprisingly jump to his feet, "All through this trip, you've been putting all of us down, saying we're not smart enough, powerful enough, anything enough to make a difference! Well as Natalie mentioned last night, we are the future of this country, and we have good ideas that are worth listening too, don't we!?" he turned to his compatriots, who nodded earnestly. "For example, you say we need to cut off immigration, slam the doors shut, put up Not Welcome signs..."

"That's not what I said!" Begelman protested, "I said merely we need to make sure the right people come...!"

"Yeah, but who are you to say who's right and who's wrong, Mr. Speaker!? If it were my decision, I'd call for a policy where entrants would be vetted carefully, but unless there's a clear cause for rejection, they would be welcome here. All the money you'd want to allot to walls and tanks and bombs, let's repackage that...like Brian suggested, for schools, perhaps. We're starting to fall behind educationally; if we spend more, we'll catch up."

"Exactly," Brian stood up as well, "Give the schools enough money to invest in their districts and hire the right teachers, the ones who can get kids interested in learning, and you'll get better graduation rates. And studies have clearly shown that highly educated kids are more likely to become productive members of society, more likely to not break the law. That's a much better use of the budget than blowing millions on a wall that'll probably fall behind schedule and go over budget anyway, or high tech bombers with too many bugs to work out."

"This is an outrage! You kids are disgracing the very tenants of...!" the Speaker screamed.

"How are we disgracing anything!?" Sloane jumped up herself, "You're the one who's been disgracing yourself all through this summit, Mr. Speaker. Tell me, have you ever known what it's like to suffer, economically or emotionally?"

"It's really none of your business, missy, but if you must know, I come from one of Madison's oldest and wealthiest families, and my father always treated me with respect..."

"And that's wonderful, Mr. Speaker, but it means you're out of touch," Sloane continued with a frown, "You don't know what the little people go through. So who are you to stand up here and tell the people who ordinarily have no voice that they have no right to be heard!?"

"You're way out of line, young lady and I...!" Begelman started to shout, but stopped as he realized Bender had started mockingly mimicking his words out loud. "And you cut that out, kid!" he shouted at him, prompting Bender to contemptuously repeat, "And you cut that out, kid!" at the exact same time. "I said stop that!" they shouted simultaneously, "I've completely had it with you and your entourage! Mr. President...!"

"Sorry Bruce, but I'd have to say you've walked into this one," Simmons shrugged.

"That's it! That did it! I am done!" Begelman roared, pulling off his tuxedo, throwing it to the ground, and stamping on it (which Bender mockingly imitated as well), "I am done with this conference, I am done with this whole summit! I'm going back to my room, and I'm not coming out until this whole misguided week's over! And when I get back to Washington, Mr. President," he stormed up to Simmons' table, "you'd better expect either my resignation or a bill declaring you unfit for office on your desk! Because the way I've seen you decline from a strong, capable leader to the blind fool standing before me now over the last few months is as frightening as it gets! You've lost all traces of being a good president, sir, and I will not let that go unpunished!"

"If you can't get enough votes to pass my planned Middle Eastern alliance, Bruce, how can you possibly get enough votes to remove me from office?" the president asked him, amused.

"Besides, Brucie, you should really open your mouth wider when you scream at people; they might not be able to understand you otherwise," Bender taunted him. Begelman bellowed in frustration again and stormed towards the door. Ferris noticed Jeremy leave his seat and rush over to his superior, clearly mouthing at him, _"If you're_ _done for the day, sir, can I have the rest of the afternoon off, then?"_

 _"I don't care!"_ the Speaker mouthed back, _"Do whatever the hell you want!"_ He slammed the door behind himself right in his aide's face. "Well, now that that's all out of the way," the president continued, "Anyone else with any questions?"

"Well, Matthew," the emir raised his hand with a mischievous grin, "Given I enjoyed myself a lot last night, what do we have fun to do this afternoon after this meeting breaks up?"

"Glad you asked, Zaid. I don't know if I told you this, but my Natalie happens to be a major fan of zip lining. And I couldn't help but noticing they've installed a big one at the top of the mountain here. So I propose that after this conference breaks off, we can hike up there and then ride it down."

"Excellent idea, Mr. President, sir," Ferris said loudly, rising to his feet, "Of course, we'll have to check the trail first and foremost, just make sure no dangers lie in wait for us, and I volunteer to go along with the Secret Service to check the trail out, with your permission, Mr. President."

"By all means, Ferris," Simmons said, cutting off the leading Secret Service agent in the room right as the man opened his mouth to lodge a protest.

"Very good. John, you haven't been out with us much so far; how about you come along with us?" Ferris approached Bender.

"What are you...?" Bender started to ask with a frown.

"Glad you agree. Sloane, Cameron, come along with us," Ferris told his girlfriend and best friend. He took Bender by the arm and led him towards the door, flashing a pair of crossed fingers back at Claire before they exited. "Are you pulling something here, Bueller!?" Bender was clearly already suspicious, "I told you I hate being out in nature...!"

"But if you're out there, maybe you'll learn to like it," Sloane countered, "You never know until you try. And you get to perform a vital service for the country. Isn't that worth it?"

"Besides, I've been thinking, while the main trail up to the top of the mountain's easily marked and a smooth climb, what challenge is that? Let's see if we can enjoy our time in the woods, have a real challenge, go off the beaten path. So..." Ferris approached the front desk, where Wally was having an argument with a member of the staff. "...told you not to leave the laundry room when it's not break time, Ernest!" he was upbraiding the man, "So get back there and stay there until...!"

"Pleasant morning, Wally," Ferris rang the bell to get his attention, "The president's decided he wants to hike up the mountain and go zip lining this afternoon. Now I was wondering, do you have any trail maps so we can figure out the best way there?"

"Matter of fact, I do," Wally bent down and pulled out another brochure from under his desk, "Everything's clearly marked. If you'd want to..."

"Well, we'll figure it out from here. Thanks, Wally," Ferris told him. "Pardon us," he pushed past Ernest, not noticing the triumphant look spreading on the man's face. "See John, this is an adventure," he told Bender, "Not all that much different from the times I've heard you sneaked out of detention proper on your own little personal quests. We'll look this over and find the best alternate trail to go up the mountain on, one that's scenic and allows us to really enjoy it."

"Which of course, Bueller, depends on there actually being one," Bender pointed out with a scowl.

"If there isn't, we make the best out of what is available. No harm done either way."

* * *

"Really!? Great job, Ernest. If this works out, you've got a big promotion coming!" an excited O'Donoghue praised his inside man over his radio. "Fall in, men, fall in!" he rushed out the cabin door and shouted to his command, who dropped everything they were doing at the moment and formed a line at attention. "We've just got a tip from Ernest; Simmons is going for a hike this afternoon up to the zip lines," their leader informed them, "Now, the Secret Service will sweep the trail before he does, but after they leave, it shouldn't be hard for us to find a blind spot and set up shop there so they walk into an ambush. You, you, and you, come with me to recon. The rest of you, grab your weapons and wait for my cue to take your positions once we find the location; this is the moment we've waited for...!"


	10. The Implosion of John Bender

"Claire, over here," Jeremy waved to her outside the hotel's front door. She bustled over to him. "Good morning," she greeted him with a smile, "How are you?"

"Not bad, not bad at all," he gave her a smile of his own, "Glad we could be able to do more together."

"So am I. Guys, this is Jeremy O'Connor; I met him yesterday," Claire introduced him to the rest of her approaching group, "He's an aide to the Speaker. Jeremy, meet Andy, Allison, Brian, and Melissa; we all came up together. And I guess you know Natalie already?" she gestured at the president's daughter at the back of the crowd.

"Never actually was face to face with her before now, but I caught a few glimpses of her every now and then when she'd visit the Capitol with her father. Good to actually meet you, officially," Jeremy greeted Natalie.

"Likewise, I'm sure," she said, glancing up at the hotel, "I guess your boss did give you...?"

"He basically said as much, so I'd be glad to go with all of you today," Jeremy told her.

"You know, he has a bit of an attitude problem," Andrew told the aide with a frown, "All through this trip so far, he's put all of us down, as you might have seen..."

"Yeah, I did. Well, the Speaker's not really a bad man; he just has very firm ideas about the way he thinks the country should go," Jeremy said, glancing up at the top floor of the hotel, as if expecting his superior to be glancing down at them, "He's kind of an old fashioned man; he thinks seniority should give those with it the loudest voice."

"Plus, I think he's still upset his presidential bid in the last cycle crashed and burned so quickly," Natalie grumbled with a roll of her eyes, "Even now when he comes by the Oval Office to have a conference with Dad, I can see the envy in his eyes. He thinks he deserved to have the presidency after all his years in Congress, and to get absolutely no support from the voters in the first two primaries and have to be the first candidate in the party to shut down his campaign, that had to sting."

"Well, he'll get over it eventually. So, what are we doing first?" Jeremy asked her.

"Until they finish confirming the trail to the zip lines are safe, I've got an idea," a deep grin crossed Natalie's face, "Everyone follow me," she waved the other teens to the path leading away from the lake. They-and her Secret Service detail-rushed to keep up. Jeremy fell into the rear of the line with Claire. "You doing good this morning?" he asked her.

"I think so. I'm glad you could come along," she told him, nonetheless shooting a nervous glance up the mountain to her right.

"You know, I didn't get much sleep last night, Claire," he confessed, "You were on my mind, and I couldn't get you out of it. I guess that means there's really something special about you..."

"Oh don't..." she gave him a playful shove.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just...we've known each other barely twenty-four hours, and you're already going for broke with me..."

"And why not, when you're so pretty and nice? In fact, I've been saving this for the right girl, and I think you're it," Jeremy dug a large emerald ring out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Oh Jeremy, you shouldn't have..." Claire gasped, delighted.

"Why not? It's clear you deserve it, Claire."

"Well, I...looks like the jeweler made a mistake, though," she glanced at the gold border of the ring, where a section seemed to have been scratched out.

"Yeah, I, I noticed that too, when I bought it. Soldering accident, he said, but he said the ring itself's still good. So I want you to have it."

"Well, I, I really appreciate it, Jeremy," she gushed, touched, "No one's really given me something like this before...apart from Dad on my birthdays, but..." her expression fell, "But I could tell that was more to spite Mom than anything..."

"So your parents don't get along?" Jeremy asked her with a frown, "If, if that's not too personal, of course..."

"No, no they don't. Never have as far as I could remember. In fact, they just finalized their divorce," Claire shook her head sadly, "I'm not sure what they ever saw in each other in the first place. Some of their fights over the years would be so epic it's a miracle the neighbors never called the cops on them. And Dad's strategy was to buy me every gift I ever wanted to get me to support him. I appreciated it at first, but once I saw what his real motive was, I lost interest. And Mom...she squandered any chance of getting my trust by turning to alcohol. By now she's really bad, and I'm worried she'd going to go too far one of these days and...you know what I mean..."

She stopped and sighed sadly. "That's terrible," Jeremy put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, "I kind of know how you feel; my father's an alcoholic too. He could get violent at times," he shivered in fear, "So you can imagine how glad I am to be out of Madison right now. My mother just ran out on us because of him three years ago, and we haven't heard from her since," it was his turn to sigh sadly. "Part of me's mad that she just abandoned me like that, another still worries about where she is now, and if she's in even worse trouble somewhere else."

"It's appalling when parents do that, yeah," Claire lamented, "Everything seems to think we all have better lives because we have all the money, but I can't remember the last time I was really, truly happy. I hope to God I can find that in college."

"Where'd you commit?" Jeremy asked.

"University of Arizona; I'm majoring in Design. Makeup and those sort of things have always been one thing I do well; maybe I can get a career in fashion, or even maybe Hollywood. But wherever I go, I'm done with Chicago," she growled, "Once I head out west, I'm not coming back; it's time to make a name from myself apart from the long Standish family tradition. Time for good old Claire to forge her own path, because I don't want to be the rich girl anymore."

"I see," Jeremy mused, taking her hand, "Well, you know, Claire, you're welcome in Madison any time you want. I don't want to go home either, not with Dad out of control so often, but there's plenty of housing there. That is, if you ever would decide to come back east..."

"Well, I'll certainly keep it in mind, Jeremy," she smiled at him, "I appreciate the offer, and everything else..."

"Hey, you guys want to get left behind?" came Brian's voice from around the bend. Claire and Jeremy rushed after him as fast as they could to find themselves joining the others at the lake's go kart track. "So this was your big idea?" Claire asked Natalie with a grin.

"Never tried this before, and since Ferris said we should all try something new this week, why not?" the president's daughter grinned back, skipping down the stairs to the course, "I'd like to feel the need for speed behind the wheel again, this time when I'm sober. Party of seven," she told the course operator.

"Yes madam, we'll get it set up for you," the operator waved to several other attendants, who rushed to get more cars set up on the course, "Take whatever's available right now too."

"Right," Natalie took a crash helmet from the man and galloped to the nearest open go kart in the pits. "Guys, guys, really?" she admonished her security detail, who were trying to grab on to the sides of the go kart, "Don't you think guarding the perimeter's sufficient? I mean, I don't think anyone's going to charge across the track and try and get me. Go on, shoo, shoo!"

The agents relinquished their grip on the go kart and spread out along the track's fence. "OK, whoever finishes first buys dinner for everyone else," Natalie informed the other teens as they climbed into go karts of their own, "And, let's get ready to roll...!"

* * *

"Do I really have to walk all the way up the mountain with you on this security sweep, Bueller!?" Bender complained, trudging after Ferris and his company up the main trail.

"Oh come on, John, learn to live a little," Ferris gave him a big smile. "How's it looking, guys?" he asked the Secret Service agents, who were scanning the woods around the trail with motion sensors and heat-detecting wands.

"Everything's checking out so far," one of the agents called back, "I think this'll pass the security test."

"How far up are we?"

"Little under halfway, looks like."

"OK, we'd like to take a rest now; you guys keep going," Ferris said.

"Thank God!" Bender all but threw himself down on a log alongside the trail. Ferris sat down next to him and watched the agents continue on up the trail. "I take it you're not having fun, John?" he asked his guest.

"How very observant of you, Bueller; no I'm not! And a hike in the woods, after I told you I hate nature, feels like you slapping me in the face!" Bender growled.

"Look, John, it's not a slap in the face. I'm genuinely trying to give you a good time on this trip," Ferris stressed, "But you can't enjoy it if you don't let go and relax."

"Careful what you wish for, Bueller; I can relax if I rip your spine clean out of your...!"

"Well, anyway," Sloane cut in, "Did you see any alternate routes yet, Ferris?"

"Not yet, Sloane, but I'm sure that if we look close enough, we'll..." Ferris trailed off, his gaze falling on the forest floor a few feet north of the log. "Hmm, look at this," he mused, rising up and walking over for a closer look. What looked like a small dirt trail snaked into the trees going well into the distance, partially covered up by the foliage, but still visible. "What have we here?" Ferris mused, following the trail along with his eyes, "An old Indian or logging path perhaps? It doesn't appear to be on the map..." he checked Wally's brochure, "Maybe this is our answer."

"But how do we know it leads anywhere near the summit, Ferris?" Cameron pointed out, "If we take it and then get lost..."

"We're not getting lost, Cameron, not with hundreds of Secret Service agents within easy radio distance at all times. And look at it, it looks like it does head right up towards the summit," Ferris pointed up the slope along the path's apparent trajectory, "I'll bet it's a long way to the top no one's used in years. Yeah, this'll be perfect-it'll be a nice, quiet trek to the zip lines. We can bring along a picnic lunch and really enjoy ourselves."

"Without telling the Secret Service, right, Bueller?" Bender raised an eyebrow.

"Like I said, it'll be just like whenever you sneak out of detention, John. Of course, we'll take a couple of agents with us, just enough to provide adequate protection. The others can guard the head of the trail, and we'll let them know when we reach the top; maybe this'll guarantee they'll work to improve themselves to be absolutely ironclad with security going forward."

"I don't know, Ferris..." Cameron shook his head.

"Come on, Cam, life's meant for taking the road not traveled," Ferris urged him, "That's all I want to do here, try something new."

"OK, good, we've found the trail and tried something new. Can we please call off the trek and go back down the damn mountain now!?" Bender complained, rising to his feet again.

"What's the rush, John? Why don't we examine the new trail a little?" Ferris said quickly, taking a few steps down it, "Let's see if we can find anything really interesting along the way; maybe we can..."

"Did you hear me, Bueller, I'm done! I don't want to do any more hiking than I need to! Why are you so bent on dragging this out as long as...!?" Bender started to complain, but then stopped. A deep frown spread rapidly on his face. "You're up to something, aren't you, Bueller?" he accused Ferris.

"Oh no, of course not, John. Where would you get that idea...?"

"I know the way your mind works, Bueller. You love to play everyone for suckers. You dragged me up here for a reason," Bender took hard steps towards him, "Talk fast; what's your scheme here?"

"John, really, I thought we had more trust than this...?"

"Don't play with me anymore, Bueller!" Bender abruptly grabbed him by the collar and shoved him hard against a tree, "What did you drag me up here for, and I want the damn truth!"

"Hey, hey, get your hands off...!" Cameron rushed forward to protest, but leaped back when Bender drew and activated his switchblade and thrust it murderously at him. "OK, carry on!" he whimpered, stepping backwards. "Start talking, Bueller, and no tricks, why am I up here!?" Bender roared at Ferris, holding the switchblade right in his face, "Or would you prefer to be only half the Bueller you are right now!?"

"Um..." Ferris gulped nervously at the knife, "Well, John, if you must put it that way..."

* * *

"John, please, they're just friends, I swear it!" he begged to a very angry Bender as the criminal stomped across the grass towards the go kart track, "You go in there like Randy Savage, and there goes any hope of a romantic evening under the stars with Claire...!"

"Not listening to you, Bueller, not after you set me up! This whole trip was a setup, wasn't it!? You and...!" Bender came to a stop at the fence, his eyes locking in on the track below. Ferris followed the criminal's gaze and winced to see Claire and Jeremy exiting their go karts, laughing and conversing happily with each other. "Worst possible timing...!" he muttered softly, putting his hands over his face.

"Who the hell is that!?" Bender yanked Ferris's hands off his face.

"His name's Jeremy, and he's a congressional aide-and they're just friends, John! This isn't...!"

"That doesn't look like' just friends' to me, Bueller!" Bender raged, pointing at Claire and Jeremy smiling at each other, "You planned this from the start, didn't you, setting me up to be shoved aside like yesterday's garbage! You're lower than I thought, Bueller! Well I'm not giving up Claire without a fight...!"

"Don't do anything stupid, John; you're going to lose her if you...!" Sloane pleaded out a warning to him, but an enraged Bender paid no heed, storming towards the exit to the go kart track just as the other teens were coming out of it. Claire instantly saw him coming towards them with a furious expression on his face and froze up. She turned in a flash to Ferris, who hastily mouthed, _"He figured it out and pulled the blade on me; I had no choice but to talk!"_ "So, enjoy the hike, Bender?" she asked innocently.

"Who are you!?" Bender ignored her and glared right in Jeremy's face.

"Jeremy O'Connor. Who are you...?" Jeremy frowned, nervous.

"The name's John Bender, but you can call me your worst nightmare right now. Quite a nice suit you're wearing," he mockingly commended Jeremy.

"Uh...thanks..."

"Sure would be a shame if something bad happened to it...whoops, made you look," Bender contemptuously flicked Jeremy's tie up into his face.

"Bender, calm down, this is not what it looks like..." Allison held up a hand at him, looking worried at his angry expression.

"Did I talk to you, Reynolds!? No I didn't, so zip it! Let's see if this suit's dirt resistant," Bender kicked a nearby pile onto Jeremy's pant leg. "Hey, hey, this cost me a fortune!" he protested.

"Bender, stop it, I mean it...!" Claire warned him, her own expression darkening.

"How could you!? I thought we agreed we'd...we'd be...!?" Bender shouted at her, pain etching across his face under the anger, "But instead, the first chance you get...!"

"Bender, will you just listen to reason...!?"

"No, I'm done listening to you, or anyone! You all set me up, didn't you!?" Bender shouted accusingly at her, and then the entire group, "Because I'm the criminal, you all wanted me out of the way so you wouldn't have to have me around, right!?"

"Bender, come on, you're acting like a paranoid three year old...!" Brian tried to cut in.

"Shut it, Johnson!" the criminal thrust a finger in his face. "All right, you want Claire, you'll have to go through me," he challenged Jeremy, "Let's go, right now, you and me."

"Forget it, you lunatic, I don't want to fight you," Jeremy turned to leave.

"Well too bad, you are!" Bender pulled him around and decked him hard in the face. "John, no, stop!" Ferris tried to get between them. Roaring, Bender shoved him aside and swung more punches at Jeremy. "Come on, fight me like a man!" he shouted at him.

"We said stop, Bender!" Andrew tackled him to the ground and pinned him down. "Let go of me, Clark, or I'll...!" he started to threaten the wrestler, but was cut off as a furious Claire delivered a pair of hard slaps to his face. "You're a disgrace, John Bender, a total disgrace!" she excoriated him, irate, "Jeremy's done nothing to hurt you!"

"He's coming between us, trying to...!"

"Shut up!" she screamed at him, "We are done, John Bender, you hear me, done! Take my advice, and just go home, you hear me, go home! You all right, Jeremy?" she worriedly approached the other boy.

"Yeah, yeah," Jeremy said, wiping at his bleeding lip, "What set that off...?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. Let's go," she took his hand and stormed off without looking back at Bender. "Fine, then, if that's your attitude, I don't need you!" Bender shouted defiantly after her, "If I meant that little to you, then you and him can go...!"

He received a second slap from Andrew as the athlete released him. "Just shut up for once in your life, buster!" Andrew yelled, giving him a murderous glare, "You really blew it this time, and you're probably not going to get another chance. Hope you're proud of yourself."

He stormed off after Claire. Giving Bender harsh glares of their own, Brian and Allison followed, as did the rest of their party. "You can all stick it!" Bender shouted after them, "You all set me up with Bueller, didn't you!? Well the hell with all of you; I don't need any of you!"

He stomped away in the opposite direction. "John, go on, go apologize...!" Ferris begged, rushing after him.

"What is this, Sunday school!? You keep following me, Bueller, and you're a dead man!" Bender warned him.

"She felt badly the whole time, John; she was worried about hurting you if you knew that...!"

"You expect me to believe Ferris Bueller, who's incapable of telling the truth, on something like that!?" Bender whirled to glare at him, "You set me up to be put through this...!"

"But you've driven her away yourself!" Sloane snapped at him, "She has the right to choose, John, and you don't own her."

"You weren't in that detention, Petersen! You didn't see how we...how we came together like...it felt special..." Bender fought hard to fight back tears, "And then to find she thinks that little of me...the first guy she sees...!"

"Well she does think that little of you now, after you act like an ape," Cameron scowled at him.

"Shut it, Frye!" Bender bellowed at him, "You don't know what...!"

"John, John, just please take a deep breath and think this over," Ferris pleaded with him, "I'm not out to get you, no one's out to get you. You've brought all this..."

"Yeah, I know, blame me like everyone else does! I try to defend her honor and I get crucified; every single solitary other person who does the same gets cheered as a hero!"

"That wasn't defending her honor; that was humiliating her in front of her friends! And why are you so incapable of accepting any responsibility!?" Sloane barked at him.

"Because this isn't my fault, Petersen, it's yours, Bueller's, and that smart aleck kid's for setting me up to get me out of the way! I can see it now, you all want me to be the fifth wheel here!"

"John, you're angry, you're not thinking straight...!"

"I'm thinking perfectly straight Petersen! You all want me as the odd one out! Well I'm not the fifth wheel here, Johnson is!" he pointed contemptuously across the way, where Brian could be seen buying Melissa ice cream at a stand, "He's the one who walked out of detention with no one; he's the one who should be unhappy here!"

"So because you're feeling miserable, other people should too!?" Sloane shouted, outraged.

"He's a nerd; they're not supposed to be the ones who get to be all lovey-dovey with beautiful girls!" Bender roared, pointing just as contemptuously at Melissa, "And she's no better; she wasn't in detention with us, so she has no right to be here! Well you know what!?" he growled, a dark look coming onto his face, "If I have to be miserable, so does everyone else. Hey, hey, miss," he hailed down an attractive brown-haired girl walking by, "I just talked to the blonde kid over there in the Hawaiian shirt," he pointed towards Brian, "He caught a glimpse of you and thought you were the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. He told me to tell you to come on over; he wants to spend the whole day with you."

"Really? Thanks," the girl smiled and bustled towards the docks. "What do you think you're doing!?" Cameron furiously demanded "This is as callous and selfish as...!"

"Hey, that's life, Frye, you always get stabbed in the back when you don't expect it," Bender shrugged indifferently, "It's time the Genius Twins learn that lesson too, and if I have to do it this way to make them learn it, so be it."

"It makes you a coward, Bender!" Cameron shouted, nonetheless standing safely behind Ferris, "I wouldn't try and break up anyone up like this...!"

"John, please call this off!" Ferris begged him, "You're only digging yourself deeper and deeper in the hole by doing this! All of us want to help you, but not if you don't let us...!"

"I don't want your help Bueller, not after you set me up!" Bender yelled at him, "I don't need your help; I don't need anyone's help...!"

"Hey you!" came the strong shout from behind Bender. He turned...and immediately took a slap to the face by the girl he'd sent over to Brian. "What were trying to pull on me!?" she glared him down, "He said he never saw me before in his life, and it's clear he already has a girlfriend!"

"Uh...just a little joke, that's all. No hard feelings?" Bender rambled quickly.

"Yes, a lot of hard feelings, you creep!" the girl told him off. She stomped away. "Damn it, Johnson, you have to be the one person in the whole world who still clings to monogamy...!" Bender muttered in disgust under his breath.

"You know what, serves you right," Sloane snapped, "Maybe now you'll think twice before trying to interfere in someone else's relationship."

"Just like you and Bueller and everyone else did in mine!?" Bender gave her a murderous glare.

"For the last time, John, we did not set you up here! Claire ran into Jeremy on her own, and they came to like each other naturally! You're just being a paranoid, jealous, overprotective bully here, and you're only making things harder for Claire!"

"Oh yeah, you want to cast yourself as so morally upstanding, Petersen, even though you ditch school with Bueller just about every time he does! You have no moral high ground here, and all you're doing is...!"

"Bender!" came another harsh shout behind him. Bender turned again, and promptly received another slap from an angry Brian. "What the hell were you thinking, sending that girl down there to try and break Melissa and I up!?" he yelled accusingly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Johnson...!"

"Oh I think you do; she said a kid over here had sent her down, and I knew it could only be you!"

"You're paranoid, Johnson, I wouldn't...!"

"Shut up, John, I don't want to hear it!" Brian grabbed him by the collar, "You listen to me, and you listen good: you will not try and come between me and the girl I love, you hear me!? You try anything like this again, and...!"

"And what!? You think you could possibly win a fight with me, Johnson!?"

"Maybe not, but fighting for Melissa's honor would automatically make me the winner in any fight between us!"

"Oh wake up, Johnson; chivalry is dead! In the real world, love doesn't conquer all, and everyone happens to...!"

"I said I don't want to hear it!" Brian roared at him, then took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing, "You just don't get it, do you-but of course, since you probably had a girlfriend a week before you met Claire, you probably wouldn't understand. You haven't lived my life, longing to be loved by girls, feeling you're not good enough to be loved, and then finding someone who does love you for who you are, who touches something deep inside you...that's what Melissa does for me. Maybe you're too cynical to understand it, but she has filled a hole in my life that I never knew was there. She has opened me to becoming a better person. She makes me feel happy to be alive. And when you meet someone like that, you treat them like the princess they are. That's what true love is, Bender, whether you believe it or not. "

"Sure, you treat her like a princess by buying her everything plus the kitchen sink! That's bribery, Johnson, not...!"

"You think it's just about the gifts, Bender!? Melissa thought no boy could love her for years too. I want her to know that I do, by treating her as well as I can. That's what girls like, I've come to see, to be made to feel special, just like she is special to me. It's the love, Bender, not the present. If it were bribery, I'd just dump her with whatever I could find. I take the time to know exactly what she'd like the most, like the telescope I got her earlier this week, so that the gift will mean the most to her. But of course, you're too selfish and vindictive to see that. You just see the material item. Well then, you and Claire were doomed anyway even if Jeremy wasn't here. Think that over good, John; if you have lost her, it's no one's fault but your own," Brian shook his head in disgust and turned to leave.

"There you go, blaming everything on me, Johnson, just like everyone else here!" Bender shouted at his backside, "This is a lynching, pure and simple; throw everything on me because I'm the criminal! All I'm doing is...!"

"Telling it like it is!? No Bender, you're telling it like _you_ want it to be," Brian growled without turning towards him, "Everyone's to blame but you. If you want some advice, Claire doesn't like boys who take that view of life. No girl does. If you really feel anything for her, and genuinely want to get her back, think over taking some responsibility for your actions for once in your life, without blaming your father, Mr. Vernon, us, or anyone else. Think it over real good, John."

He stormed off, still not looking back. "He has a good point, John," Ferris told him solemnly, hesitantly putting his hand on the criminal's shoulder, "Even I have to realize that sometimes, you..."

"Shut your damn mouth, Bueller, and don't touch me!" Bender roared, shoving Ferris's hand away. "OK, you know what, I don't have to take this any more!" he muttered out loud, "I'm out of here. I can tell when I'm not welcome. Goodbye, Bueller."

"Where...where are you going...?" Ferris asked, confused, as his guest turned and stomped away.

"Home, where do you think!?" Bender spun and growled at him, "That's what everyone clearly wants!"

"So you're just going to walk away instead of trying to make things right!? That does make you a coward in my book!" Sloane shouted at him.

"Well I don't want to read your book, Petersen! And don't try and stop me; I've made up my mind, and my decision is final!"

"John, please, listen to reason; you can't...!" Ferris offered one final protest.

"Bueller, read my lips: burn...in...hell!" Bender snarled murderously at him, giving Ferris a pair of obscene gestures to push his point home. He stormed away. "Ferris, let him go," Cameron told his friend firmly, grabbing Ferris's arm when he tried to rush after Bender, "He's made his decision. Let him live with it."

"Ferris, we tried; let him face the consequences if that's what he wants," Sloane added, taking Ferris's other arm. Ferris sighed sadly. "I genuinely did want to give him a good week," he told his girlfriend and best friend, "It hurts to see it unravel like this..."

"You care too much for people sometimes," Sloane told him, looking him right in the eye, "That's not a crime, mind you. But some people are just...just unable to get out of their own way."

Ferris lowered his head and nodded softly. "Well, if everyone's calmed down now, might as well get ready for the hike," Cameron mused, checking his watch, "The president should be just about done by now."

"Guess so," Ferris mumbled, walking after his girlfriend and best friend away from the go kart track. He glanced over his shoulder at Bender, disappearing in the distance. "I do have a gut feeling he will be back," he turned sideways, as if sharing his thoughts with an invisible person, "After all, they usually do in these stories after they calm down. But I must admit, after all this, I don't feel as supremely confident he will return," he shook his head again, "I guess we'll all have to hope for the best, for him, for Claire, for everyone. Here's hoping..."


	11. The Return of Bill Stanpovalichki

"Where the hell is he!?" a frustrated O'Donoghue paced in tight circles in the thick pine grove his men were entrenched in about three quarters of the way up the trail to the top of the mountain, "He should have reached this spot twenty minutes ago!"

He dug out his radio again. "Ernest, come in; you absolutely sure Simmons started his hike!?" he demanded to his inside man at the hotel.

"I went out for lunch and saw him and his party start up the trail myself," Ernest responded, "He's not at the ambush point yet?"

"No!" the militia commander bellowed, "I have no clue what the hell's happening! Let me know if he comes back down!"

He hung up and tossed the radio to the ground. "Two months of planning for this mission, and nothing's gone right!" he growled in frustration, "These are woods; there's nothing for him to see here! Why is he taking so damn long!?"

"Um, Commander, with your permission," Rooney raised his hand from behind a boulder, "Richard are I are willing to scout down the trail and look for him. If we see him, we'll lead him to you."

"Yeah, yeah, exactly," Vernon added next to him.

"Oh, all right, but no tricks, you two, or else," O'Donoghue warned them, making a slashing gesture across his throat with his combat knife.

"Don't worry, we'll keep in touch," Rooney assured him, rising to his feet. Once he and Vernon had started down the trail and were out of earshot of the militants, however, he whispered in his former superior's ear, "You go into town, I'll go deeper into the woods; if I don't see those kids in an hour, I'll meet up with you on the beach. Either way, we're done with these clowns; now it's time to focus on our own mission, to exact our pound of flesh."

"And now we at least have the firepower for it," Vernon stuffed the pistol he'd been given into his pocket, "Let's hope we luck out."

"Yeah, but the question still is, Richard, where did they go? I'll bet anything Ferris detoured the presidential party somewhere; the question is, where!?"

* * *

"Again, Mr. President, all of us think this is a bad idea, going off the main trail without telling anyone," one of the half dozen Secret Service agents privy to Ferris's plan to detour off the beaten path complained to the commander in chief as the presidential party trudged up the hidden trail.

"Sometimes, Sam, we have to take a trip off the main road of life," Simmons responded. "Everyone doing all right, still?" he called back to the rest of his party behind him on the trail.

"Yeah, but I think we could probably use a rest soon, Mr. President," Allison called to him, looking winded, "This is a tougher climb than I'd have thought."

"First reasonable place to stop, we'll stop," the president assured her. "How about you, Zaid, enjoying it?" he asked his guest for the week, huffing along next to him.

"I have to admit, Matthew, I am not sure of the fondness you Americans have for such long hikes in the outdoors," the emir told him, stumbling a little on an outcropping of rocks, "Back home, of course, outside of the cities, one does not walk around for hours in the desert like this. Still, this certainly does make for a more interesting summit..."

"Say, you guys hear water?" Cameron spoke up from behind them. And indeed, the loud sound of gushing water could be heard above the next rise. The party scrambled up to the top. "Wow," Sloane spoke for all of them at the sight of a moderate-sized waterfall in a glen before them, one which splashed down into a large, deep pool before continuing downhill to their left as a stream. "This must be the upper reaches of Elk Creek, which runs into the north end of the lake," Ferris mused, pulling out the brochure he'd gotten off Wally, "This waterfall isn't on the map, though."

"Perhaps we're the first people to ever lay eyes on it," the president said, staring up at the waterfall in awe, "If so, we're certainly getting more than we would have if we'd stayed on the main trail. I'd say this would be a good place to stop for lunch, don't you?" he asked the others. They nodded firmly. "And with that in mind, I have another idea," the leader of the free world gestured his Secret Service detail closer, "See those large boulders on the sides of the pool?" he pointed to them, "See if you can roll about fifteen of them into the pool; don't worry, we'll put them back after we're done..."

And so, ten minutes later, the giant stones had been arranged in a rough circle in the middle of the pool by the agents, and the members of the hiking party, having removed their footwear, sat down on them and picked food off the baskets floating lazily among the stones. "This was a good idea, Mr. President," Andrew commended Simmons while taking a handful of chips from one of the baskets.

"I've read that when Theodore Roosevelt visited Gifford Pinchot in northeastern Pennsylvania during his term in office, they'd discuss conservation matters around an outdoor water table at his mansion where the food would be served much like this," the president said, picking up a sandwich from another basket. "You ready to face off with Zaid's nephew tonight?" he asked the wrestler.

"Um, guess so. Shouldn't be too hard, after all; a few quick grapples and we'll have it all over with," Andrew rationalized.

"I asked Ahmed to go somewhat easy so he doesn't exhaust himself before the Olympics," the emir said, "So you don't have anything to worry about, Andrew Clark."

"Much appreciated, your, uh, Emir-ship," the wrestler thanked him, picking up a soda can and taking a slurp from it. "You all right, Claire?" he asked her, noticing her slumped with her head in her hand on another stone.

"Yeah, Andy; I'm just not hungry right now," she mumbled glumly.

"We all warned him, Claire, and he went ahead and assaulted Jeremy in spite of it," he tried to offer her comfort, "You did the right thing cutting him off."

"I...I think so...I hope so. I am still mad at him for it, and he's getting what he deserves for being so angrily out of line, but... there's still..."

"He shouldn't have been so possessive," Jeremy assured her from the stone next to her, rubbing her shoulder in comfort, "You deserve better than that. You deserve better than him."

"Thanks, Jeremy, I appreciate it," she managed a smile at him.

"You'll still have a good rest of the week, Claire; we promised we'd deliver for you if he couldn't, and we will," Brian added.

"I don't doubt it, Brian. You know, the more I think of it," she turned to him, "I'm starting to regret that I didn't try and, after detention..."

"Hook up with me? Well, actually, just one problem there, Claire; I don't know if I could have reciprocated if you'd asked then," he confessed, "When I walked out of detention that day, I still considered myself well below you and Allison; I thought I had nothing either of you would have wanted, just like I thought then that I had nothing any girl would want."

"Well I hope you know it's not true, Brian; if anything, we were below you..."

"No, no one was below anyone. We were all equals, like Andy said in the hospital after the competition. And it worked out for the better anyway; this way, I got to find exactly the right girl for me, and it's turned out a lot better than I could have ever imagined," Brian put his arm around Melissa on the rock next to him and pulled her gently into his side.

"Yeah, I'm glad that's how it worked out," she smiled at him.

"You'll be pleased to note, Miss Winters, that I called up the head of NASA this morning, and told him I'd like to work your designs into a future project if he could," the president told her, "He was quite eager to give them a shot, and said that if they work in official practice, he'd be willing to offer you at minimum an internship over next summer, if not a full-time job."

"Wonderful," she exclaimed, bolting back upright, "But, so he knows, he'll have to take Brian too if he wants me to accept. We're officially a team now."

"I'm sure I can tell him that the next time I call him."

"Looks like you've made out great on this trip so far," Natalie grinned at Melissa. "I know you're not an outdoors person, Mom, but I hope you're liking this," she said to her mother, chewing away on a sandwich of her own.

"To be honest, honey, this isn't bad. Actually, this is bringing back good memories," the First Lady told her, setting the sandwich down, "I've never told you this, but when I was younger, your grandparents had a cabin up in the Minnesota woods, and we'd vacation there during the summers. I've always been a city person, but I did enjoy my time there. My sister and I, we'd play in the woods a lot, just us and the majesty of nature. I guess I forgot how much I liked that over the years..." she let out a soft sigh, "Cathy was more of a nature person than me. If...if she was still with us, I think she'd probably be living in an isolated, rural place like this..."

"It sounds like the two of you were pretty close at one point. What drove you so far apart?" Sloane asked with a frown.

"I guess...we just drifted. We each had different ideas about what life meant. The last time we talked, she was going to do something I really disagreed with. It got nasty when I tried to talk her out of it, a lot nastier than it probably should have been, even though I think I was right all these years later. And just like that...she was dead and gone...for years, I didn't care, but increasingly, especially since you kids showed up," Mrs. Simmons glanced at them, "I'm realizing how much I miss her."

"She won't be gone as long as you love her," Sloane offered comfort, "And I think somewhere, she knows you're sorry, and still cares for you."

"I would hope so," the First Lady forced a smile, "I've also been thinking, if we can't forgive family, who can we hope to forgive?"

"My father tried to shoot me when he found his precious Ferrari wrecked after we took it out on a day off; I can't forgive him for that," Cameron grumbled, shaking his head.

"It's your decision, Cam; if anything's unforgiveable, that certainly is," Ferris told him, "But perhaps that's something a couple of you guys," he turned to his guests for the week, "may want to consider with your own families. I get it that your parents have been hard on you at times in various ways, but they are still human beings, and there's probably hope for them if their eyes could be opened. No matter what, they are your families..."

"Thanks, Ferris, but it's just too late. My parents have blown it too many times, and they've made it clear by dumping me this week that they just don't care," Claire shook her head glumly.

"Sorry," Jeremy rubbed her shoulder sympathetically, "Say, if you're not hungry, would you like to go for a walk around here?" he asked her, rising to his feet, "I'm sure there's a lot more to see in the area."

"Yeah, I'd like to, Jeremy," she nodded, jumping to her feet as well.

"Just remember to stay within the security perimeter; we can't guarantee your safety outside it," a nearby Secret Service agent spoke up, pointing to the wide circle of agents and the emir's bodyguards surrounding the waterfall.

"Right, don't worry guys. Well, shall we?" Jeremy gestured to Claire. The two of them splashed their way out of the pool to dry land. "It's good she has someone to fall back on after Bender blew it," Andrew smiled.

"Well, I'm not sure yet, Andy," Allison, in contrast, was frowning, "Call me paranoid and suspicious, but I'm just feeling something off with this guy."

"Really?" her boyfriend frowned at her, amazed.

"Really. It's just that everything he's said to her seems, well, a little too perfect to me," she admitted, watching Jeremy and Claire start climbing the rocks to the top of the waterfall, "So maybe after they come down..."

"Allison, don't, please; no wallet snatching," Brian held up his hand, shaking his head, "Doing it out of innocent curiosity about a person in detention where it can easily be given back is one thing, but to essentially spy is another."

"Well Brian, I don't want to see Claire hurt any further than she already is if he's not being on the level with her. And I'm sure you don't either, right?"

"Of course not, but being a thief isn't the right way to do it. And what if you're wrong and he is on the level with her? How will you feel then? So promise you won't snatch his wallet unless we have hard proof he's misleading her, promise?" he pressed her.

"All right, all right, promise," Allison sighed, staring up at the two figures atop the waterfall, "But I hope you're right and I'm wrong. Claire doesn't deserve any more pain..."

* * *

"Here you go," Jeremy pulled Claire up to the top of the waterfall. The two of them sat down by the drop and removed their footwear again. "I've always wanted to do this," he admitted to her, splashing his feet into the water at the point before it went over the edge.

"I had the feeling," she grinned, following his lead. She glanced around the woods surrounding the waterfall. "It really is beautiful here," she said with a contented sigh, "I'm glad Ferris decided to go off the main trail."

"So am I," Jeremy agreed, slipping an arm around her, "I almost wish we could stay here for a while." They were both silent for a moment before he added, "I'm sorry your parents are really that bad."

"Forget it; it's on them, not you," Claire grumbled, "Dad can't resist any chance to get back at Mom; that's why he basically snatched up Marcia the first chance he got."

"Marcia?"

"Marcia Maddox; he met her at a big downtown Chicago party four weeks ago. She works for a big hedge fund located in the city. But like I really care. She means nothing to me, especially since I'm leaving for good. She's not my mother, and she never will be. I had nothing to say to her these past few weeks before they skipped out to Vegas to consummate whatever you could call their relationship, which is essentially Dad giving a big middle finger to Mom, saying, 'You were never good enough for me.'"

"That's awful. And your mother...?"

"Visiting our Caribbean estate one last time before it officially goes to Dad per the divorce court's ruling. She's probably passed out on the floor right now, drunk out of her mind. It...it really hurts to see her self-destructing like she's been doing over the last few years," Claire shook her head sadly, "She and Dad both embarrass me so much...you understand why I have to get away from them now that I've graduated?"

"I sure do," he squeezed her close, "My parents shamed me with the paths they've taken as well, and I'm glad to be basically done with them now. I guess we really understand each other then, Claire."

"More than I would have imagined," she flashed a smile at him. "You...you don't know how hard it is for me to find people I can trust in this life. My parents can't be trusted at all, a lot of my regular social circle in town, when I look closer now, are vapid and all about themselves. And Bender...you saw him go off the deep end back at the lake. I wanted to believe in him so much, but it's clear he's just got too much anger built up."

"What did you see in a guy like that anyway?" Jeremy asked.

"I don't know, I've spent the last few months trying to figure that out. There was always something that made him stand out after we first met in detention; I guess...I guess I just felt sorry for him, learning how badly his father abused him at home. I guess part of me wanted to reach out to him and give him something to take hold of. But unfortunately, he's squandered that now after what he tried to do to you," she shook her head again, "If he insists on being a jealous, pushy, and angry person, and doesn't want to repent for it, then I guess I've got nothing further to say to him."

"If it makes you feel better, Claire, it may just have been a day ago that we met, but I think you're a very special person," Jeremy told her with a smile, "I've looked at girls before, but you really stand out."

"Oh stop it...!"

"No, really. You're pretty, you're compassionate, you're the type of girl a lot of guys would like to go out with. People should appreciate you more. And I do."

"I can tell," she took his hand, "I'm so glad we bumped into each other, Jeremy. You've helped make this trip a whole lot happier for me then it otherwise would have been."

"Likewise," he took her other hand. The two of them started leaning towards each other...

...but before they could kiss, Jeremy's cell phone beeped. He pulled it out and stared at it. "Uh oh...!" he groaned, hastily shoving it back into his pocket.

"What, what is it?" Claire looked up at him, confused.

"The, uh, Speaker; he wants me, um, back at the hotel A.S.A.P. He needs me to do a job for him this afternoon. Sorry, Claire, I've got to go now," he apologized, slipping his shoes back on, "You, um, saw how mad he was earlier this morning; I don't want to risk making him madder and perhaps firing me."

"Well, will you be off again later?" Claire asked him as he started scrambling back down the waterfall.

"That'll depend on how much he has for me. Sorry to leave like this, Claire; I'll try to get back if I can. Nice to be with you," he told her in parting, climbing down out of sight. Claire leaned back and frowned. "The Speaker waited all this time to ask more of him?" she thought out loud, then shrugged. "Oh well, Andy was right; he's not the nicest of guys, and that probably extends to handing out staff assignments. Hope this clears up soon; I really need Jeremy now, after everything..."

* * *

"Yeah, Ace, I'll be waiting right outside the main Secret Service checkpoint for you to pick me up," Bender said into a pay phone near the main marina, "It'll be probably about a two and a half hour drive up if traffic's not too bad. Oh, and Ace, see if you can bring along a couple of extra bags; I'd like to try and make a few sales before we head on back...I did, but Bueller threw them in the sewers before we left Shermer! Besides ticking me off, he also freaks me out with how clairvoyant he can be sometimes. Yeah, I know. But at least I'm rid of him now. I'm rid of all of them now. Right. See you when you get here, Ace."

He hung up. "Serves them all right; they'll miss me when I'm gone," he muttered in disgust to himself, plopping down on a nearby bench, "And they'd better not expect me to come crawling back with my tail between my legs; John Bender bows to no one!"

He stared straight ahead across the marina with a scowl, not paying attention at the sound of someone sitting down on the bench next to him. "Oh, pardon us," came a jovial voice that made him turn to see Stanpovalichki and Keema seated beside him. "Afternoon," the homeless man greeted him with a tip of the hat, laying his coat, which he had slung over his shoulder, down on the bench, "Keema and I were just out for a walk around the lake, and figured we needed a break. Mind if we share the bench with you?"

"Yes, I very much mind, so get up and keep walking!" Bender snapped at him, "I'm in no mood to talk to anyone right now!"

"That so?" Stanpovalichki frowned, "Can't quite see why, given this is a very lovely day..."

"Look, fat boy, I don't want to talk to you, got it!?" Bender snarled, "I'm leaving here soon, because my so-called friends made it clear they think I'm a plague to them, and I don't want anything holding up my ride out, OK!?"

"I see," Stanpovalichki shuffled around on the bench. "Seems like he's got a lot of troubles on his mind, Keema," he told his dog, "Thinking his friends don't believe in him..."

"Well they don't. I only tried to stand up for the girl that I thought cared for me, and she just threw it back in my face; they all did," Bender gripped the side of the bench in a rage, "They demean me every chance they get, they don't laugh when I try and make jokes, they crucify me for everything that goes wrong just because my disciplinary record's not as squeaky clean as theirs are! They made it clear they want me to leave, so I am. And good riddance to them, because nobody demeans John Bender and keeps him as a friend...!"

"Hmm, interesting. Good to meet you, John Bender; I'm Bill Stanpovalichki, and this Keema," the man introduced himself and his dog, "Seems to me you've got a lot to work out with your friends..."

"They're not my friends anymore, and I don't want to be their friend! And it's really none of your business, buddy...!"

"Maybe not, John, but I can tell when people need someone to talk to. And John," Stanpovalichki leaned closer to him, "Talking isn't weakness. You'll feel a lot better letting out how you feel."

"To a complete stranger like you!?"

"You'll still feel better."

"All right," Bender sighed in frustration, "If I tell you, will you go away, and promise to keep your mouth shut about everything I say!?"

"Well, I guess I could manage that, John."

"All right," Bender took a deep breath, "We were invited up here for a week by this punk kid that I can't stand, but I agreed to come along anyway because I needed the time away from home. But since we've got here, I've been put down, told off, pushed around, and to top it all off, the damn kid tricks me into going off with him so the girl that I thought had feelings for me could go off with someone else."

"And how'd you take that?"

"Gave the would-be Romeo the decking he deserved and told them all to go to hell. I thought she cared," Bender's face scrunched up with pain, "It's been an up and down ride since we met in detention, but no matter the valleys, I always thought there was something there. When we were in the closet together in detention, it...ah, you wouldn't understand..."

"Maybe I might. John," Stanpovalichki leaned towards him with a frown, "When you hit that other boy, did he do anything to provoke you beforehand?"

"Well...no...except stealing my girl...!"

"John, if only you threw a punch, that makes you the only guilty party, unfortunately," Stanpovalichki shook his head, "If you want to get her back, you'll have to admit you were wrong..."

"See, there you go, just like everyone else, blaming me without bothering to hear my side of the story!" Bender roared, jumping back to his feet, "You're just the same as the rest of them, burying me alive because of who I am!"

"John, I am only trying to help you..."

"Well you know what, fat boy, I don't want or need your help, so goodbye!" Bender turned to leave, but Keema leaped off the bench and grabbed hold of the criminal's pant leg. "Hey, let go, you stupid mutt!" he bellowed at Keema.

"I think he's trying to send you a message, John," Stanpovalichki told him softly, "And besides, if you walk now, do you really think you'll have any chance of getting your girl back?"

He raised his eyebrows at the boy. Sighing, Bender plopped back down on the bench, prompting Keema to release him. "John, trying to help you is not the same as crucifying you," Stanpovalichki told him firmly, "There are people out there who genuinely would like to help you. But you have to take some responsibility for your actions; every human being does at one point or another in their lives. Tell me more about this girl of yours," he leaned towards him again, "Is she pretty?"

"Well, yeah," Bender admitted, digging an earring out of his pocket and staring at it, "I ordinarily wouldn't want anything to do with someone in her crowd, but there was just something about her that...maybe because her old man sees her as a tool to get back at his now ex-wife. It's not really that different from how my old man kicks me around. The dirty brute," his face contorted with rage, "I hope when I get back, he's dropped dead."

"Really?" Stanpovalichki whistled in surprise, "That bad between you and him?"

"He doesn't care for me, so I don't care for him," Bender muttered in disgust, "In fact, he's better off dead."

"Interesting. Well, John, I don't know how you might feel if I told you this, but I picked up the Tribune before I came up here, and there was an article about a guy named Bender who was badly beaten in a home invasion the other night. Your father named Arthur?"

"Yeah. What are you...?" Bender's expression fell.

"Right here on page four, column three," Stanpovalichki pulled a newspaper out of his coat pocket and handed it to the boy. Bender's eyes widened at the headline reading SHERMER MAN IN SERIOUS CONDITION FOLLOWING HOME INVASION. "I take it that is in fact your dad?" Stanpovalichki noticed his reaction, "Brute though he may be, John, he is still your father," he advised him, "And who knows, maybe he's bad with you because he might have gone through what you did when he was your age. Instead of wishing him dead, how about trying to bridge the gap when you get home?"

"Um...well...I don't know," Bender shook his head, tossing the paper aside.

"John, I get it, you have a rough home life. But taking it out on those around you doesn't make anything better," the homeless man told him sternly, "If your friends and your girlfriend are mad at you right now, you only have yourself to blame. Only you can make it better by manning up."

"But she just ditched me the first chance she got!" Bender growled, staring hard at the earring again, then shoving it back in his pocket, "Does she really think that little of me!?"

"Another thing, John: it's her choice. Unless you see then being abused or disrespected, a woman's choice with who she wants to go out with should always be honored," Stanpovalichki said, "If you've been out of line this week, who can blame her for wanting to look elsewhere? And it does sound like you were unnecessarily overprotective with her. I think you need to take a good look inside and ask yourself: do I really love her as a person? Or is she just a trophy for me to crow about?"

"She's not a trophy she's...she's...I don't know what she is anymore," Bender shook his head.

"Well only you can answer that question yourself, John," Stanpovalichki did the same.

"Well I don't know what they want from me! It's like...they treat me like a fifth wheel! It's Johnson that should be the fifth wheel; he's the one who walked out of detention empty-handed that day! But no, it has to all work out for him just like that, and then he has to drag his girlfriend, who I frankly can't stand, up here with him! I can't stand them being all lovey-dovey, crooning about how special they are to each other! They're mocking me, that's what they're doing! They're just two nerds mocking me that I can't keep Cherry...uh, Claire, at my side!"

"Mmm," Stanpovalichki mused, "Well, John, truthfully, what gives you the right to say who can be happy and who can't? What gives any person the right to do that? If they really do love each other, I wouldn't try and interfere."

"But it's just so annoying and stupid; they only fell in love because he was on the same stage as her on a night she wanted to kill herself; how is that supposed to start a great, loving relationship!?"

"John," Stanpovalichki leaned towards him with a deep frown, "As long as it is true love, and it sounds to me like it is, why should we try and question it or put it down? And why should you get jealous and hateful of them for being in love? How would you feel if it was better between you and Claire right now, and they tried to mess it up between the two of you? If they've waited a long time for romance, it's bound to be extra special for them. Maybe Brian even told you that at some point and..."

"Wait a minute, how the hell do you know Johnson's name!?" Bender frowned right back at him.

"Oh, uh, funny as it may sound, John, I met him a while back, when he needed someone to talk to," Stanpovalichki said quickly, "And it's quite good to hear he's doing a lot better. In the meantime, John, I think a picture's beginning to emerge here for you: I get the feeling you feel insignificant among your friends?"

"It's not that, you dope, I...I...!" Bender's head started sagging, "All right, you got me! I can't help it, though! Cherry...Claire's pretty and has lots of dough, Clark's one of the best wrestlers in the district, Johnson's one of the smartest people in town, Reynolds...I can't quite place it, but she's got something special about her. And there's me, John Bender, arch-criminal of the Shermer School District, stuck forever in their shadows!" he growled with a scowl, gripping the bench in rage again, "Anyone who sees me with them's going to laugh at me! I...look like a big, fat nothing next to them! And I've told you way too much...!"

"And there's no shame in that, John, contrary to what you'd think," Stanpovalichki put a hand on his shoulder, "I think I understand now: it's not that they treat you as the fifth wheel; you see yourself as the fifth wheel. You can't help but look at what they've managed to do and feel inferior. Funny thing is, when I did talk to Brian way back when, he felt the same way about himself when he was looking at you and them. So it looks like you're not as different, or as far behind them, as you might think. And John, it may look like they've accomplished a lot, but if that detention played out the way my mind thinks it did, I'd say they have as much to be ashamed about as you do."

"Well...um...uh...you do have good intuition for a tramp..." Bender grudgingly conceded.

"I may not have a roof over my head, John, but I'm not blind to the world," Stanpovalichki told him, "My advice to you is, put all the selfishness and shame you've been feeling behind you. Reach out to them, tell them you're genuinely sorry and try and positively make up for it to them. We all have to accept blame at some point in our lives, but when we do it, it frees us up to be better people. And if you're genuine, maybe there'd still be hope for you and Claire."

"Not a chance now; she's happy with her congressional aide..."

"Well, even if so, then you'll know what to avoid when going forward with the next girl you fall in love with. And even if you can't be boyfriend/girlfriend after this, that doesn't mean you and Claire can't still be friends. And that can be just as valuable as a romantic relationship, John. Well," Stanpovalichki rose to his feet, "It's about time Keema and I get going. You take it easy now, John Bender-and please think over what I said. Everything I told you was a genuine attempt to try and help you. Don't blame the rest of world for all your problems; there's loads of people who have it worse off than you do, perhaps even in ways we can't see. Think it over, John. Let's go, Keema."

He took his dog's leash and started sauntering away. Bender turned and pulled Claire's earring back out of his pocket again, staring intently at it. "Yeah, but buster, I..." he turned around, but Stanpovalichki and his dog had already vanished. "Where'd the hell he go!?" he mused with a frown, shoving the earring back in his pocket again and scanning for the homeless man in every direction, with no luck, "He couldn't have just disappeared into thin air...!"

Suddenly, without warning, a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind. Bender was roughly hauled to his feet and spun back around to find himself face to face with...

"Dick!?" he gasped in shock to see his former detention nemesis glaring at him.

"Good afternoon, John," Vernon leered coldly at him.

"Dick, what the hell are you doing up here!? You're supposed to be living out of your car in Northbrook right now...!"

"Not before I got the chance to exact a well-deserved pound of flesh, buster...no, no, you're not leaving!" Vernon grabbed Bender's arm when he tried to run and shoved his pistol into the boy's chest, "This is no water pistol, John Bender; try and run or scream, and I kill you right here and now, got it!?"

"Dick, this is insane...!"

"Shut the hell up!" Vernon roared in his face, "Hand over the knife right now; I know you've got it," he thrust his hand in his former student's face, cocking the gun for extra emphasis. Sighing, Bender reached into his other pocket, extracted the switchblade, and handed it to the former superintendent. "Thank you," Vernon pivoted and flung the switchblade into the lake. "All right, turn around and march, and no escape attempts," he twisted Bender back around and gave him a hard shove to start walking, "We're going for a nice long walk in the woods, John, after which you're finally going to pay in blood for every nasty thing you've ever done to me and every other teacher in the Shermer School District. And then, when I find them, the rest of your nice, precious club's going to pay in blood too...!"


	12. The End of the Criminal?

"Pour it on, Rock! Eye of the tiger, eye of the tiger!" Ferris shouted in his Mickey the trainer voice to Andrew, who was huffing hard trying to run up the final stretch of the trail with two large rocks balanced on his shoulders.

"This was fun at first, Ferris, but I don't think this is a long term training answer!" Andrew gasped in exhaustion, "I won't be able to do anything with Ahmed if I'm all cramped and drained!"

"Ferris, let him rest," Allison asked him firmly. Ferris stopped and nodded. "OK, take five," he told Andrew, who dropped the rocks with a loud huff. "You all right, Andy?" Allison put a hand on her boyfriend's shoulder.

"Tired, but fine," he tried to catch his breath, "I don't know how Rocky managed to run all over Philadelphia without collapsing...!"

"You know, Andy, I'm starting to have a few doubts about going ahead with this now," she said solemnly, "I just...I've got a bad feeling something terrible's going to happen..."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, it's just...I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe you should just respectfully decline when we get back to the lodge..."

"Don't worry about it, Allison; he'll do fine," Melissa countered, walking up on Andrew's other side and offering him a bottled water to drink, "He's in good shape, and we all want to see him try. Besides, as long as he thinks, 'I've got this,' and pushes himself to his best, I think he won't just hold his own with Ahmed but might even beat him."

"Besides, Allison, I don't want to create an international incident, especially when the emir's looking forward to this now," Andrew glanced back down the trail, where the Kuwaiti leader was walking alongside the president, laughing and conversing happily with each other, "Got to follow through with it now."

"Just be careful, Andy; it was not wanting to look weak that landed you in detention in the first place," she cautioned him.

"Just relax, Allison, I don't see what could go wrong," Melissa remained upbeat.

"Indeed, let's think positive until we have reason to otherwise. Hey, good to see you guys," Ferris waved to the Secret Service agents now pouring down the trail towards the commander in chief, "We had a great afternoon; hope you did too."

"Mr. President, is everything all right?" one of the agents all but shouted to Simmons upon reaching him.

"Never better, Mack; Emir Zaid and I had a great hike up the trail here. They should really mark it better so more people can use it; there's a great waterfall and..." the president told him.

"Mr. President, I think you realize full well that we don't appreciate you slipping away from your primary protection, especially in an isolated area like this," another agent admonished him, "If something had happened, and we hadn't been able to get to you in time..."

"But nothing did happen. So it was all good," Natalie patted him on the shoulder, "Sometimes, we all need to break away from the rat race and enjoy ourselves a bit. And now, our feature presentation," her gaze turned eagerly towards the zip line control tower at the very top of the mountain. "Come on, Cameron, here we go again," she took his hand and dragged him towards it, "Ready for the biggest run of all?"

"Um," Cameron glanced hesitantly at the zip lines stretching down the mountain and over the lake, "I, uh, wasn't aware it was going to be this high off the ground..."

"Come on Cam, you did fine back on the one on the White House grounds," Sloane argued, racing after them.

"Well that one was only about a hundred feet off the ground, Sloane; this one looks like about five hundred or so," Cameron shuffled about uncomfortably at the departure point, unable to take his eyes off the large distance between the lines and the treetops far below. "Uh, how fast is this supposed to go?" he asked the attendant at the line.

"Maximum speed's about thirty miles an hour," the attendant related.

"Right. And do we have any additional braking options if we don't want to go that fast?"

"Just your hands; don't brake too early, though, or you might get stuck with nowhere to go."

"I see. Uh, can I take the escalator down instead...?"

"Cameron, I want to share this moment with you," Natalie had already donned a helmet and pads. She handed a spare set to him, "For me, race you down?"

"Well...for you, sure," Cameron managed a smile at her. "But I still think there should be extra brakes or an early and safe way to exit for people who don't want the full thrill ride," he continued to complain to the attendant, nonetheless still donning the helmet and pads.

"Anyone who's unfamiliar with this, I'll give you training before you shove off," the attendant told the rest of the party. "We're so glad you could take the time to experience the ride here, Mr. President," he said to Simmons with pride.

"My girl loves doing this, so I had to make sure we had one session booked in," the president told him. "I take it you've never done this before, Zaid?" he asked the emir.

"Can't say that I have, but it looks interesting," the Kuwaiti leader said, examining the zip line with amusement.

"Have you ever wanted to have the feeling of flying, Emir Zaid? You'll get it on this," Natalie gave him a thumbs-up. She reluctantly stepped sideways at the launch point so four Secret Service agents could lock onto her line as well, two in front of her and two behind her. "All right, prepare for launch!" she shouted excitedly, stepping back into place. "Ready, Cameron!?" she called to the adjoining zip line, where he was hooked up and ready to go.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Cameron answered, his eyes looking straight up at the sky so he wouldn't see the drop, "It's amazing what you're willing to do in this life when you really care for someone, so I guess that means I do love you, Natalie."

"On your mark, get set, GO!" she eagerly pushed off, accidentally bumping the unready agents in front of her down the line. Cameron pushed off at the same time. "Doing great, Cameron, doing great!" Ferris shouted encouragement to his best friend.

"It's not so bad after all, Ferris-yet!" Cameron called back. He and Natalie and the agents rapidly zoomed down the line at high speed, soon becoming mere dots in the distance. "OK, Ferris turned back to the rest of the group, "Who wants to go down next?"

* * *

"Mark your damn trails, people, like every other nature hike area in the country!" a disgusted Rooney muttered out loud, glancing around the completely unmarked section of woods he was currently standing in, "Two turns off the trail, and just like that, completely lost! There has to be a better way to get justice against Ferris than this!"

He kicked up a patch of ferns in a rage. "Two hours wondering around here, and no sign of Ferris, the president or anyone!" he continued his rant, "I know he told Simmons to leave the trail for some reason or other, I just know it; why can't somebody just tell him to shut his damn mouth for once in this life! That's why he's a menace to humanity! And now I have no clue how to get back to the lake, or anywhere close to where he might have...!"

Suddenly a loud excited cry reached the former principal's ears from somewhere above him. A very familiar excited cry. "Petersen..." he mused, his gaze shooting upwards. A rough form could just be seen zooming over the tree tops through the foliage. "Aha, so they made it to the zip lines," his dark expression returned, "Well, I just need a clearing...!"

He glanced around the woods. Sure enough, there appeared to be a break in the trees a few yards to his right around a rocky outcropping overlooking the river. Rooney rushed for it and glanced up. The zip lines were clearly visible high above his head. Rooney cocked the assault rifle he'd brought with him and took aim up at the wires. "OK, Ferris, I want you more than anyone, so come on down the line," he growled, fixing the nearest line in his gun's crosshairs. "No, I don't want you," he muttered when Melissa proved the next person down, "Come on, Ferris, don't make me wait here all day...what the hell are you doing up there!?" he snarled at Mrs. Simmons coming down the line next, surrounded by a half dozen Secret Service agents, "That's unbecoming for someone like you! Ferris, Ferris, where are you...!?"

And then, a very familiar shout of delight reached his ears. "Bueller..." he sneered, pressing his eye tight against the viewfinder, "Don't go so fast that I can't get the shot...here we are," his dark smile spread as a shape that could only be Ferris zoomed over the clearing, going fast but not too fast for Rooney's purposes. "That's it, that's it...!" he shouted excitedly, "Smile, you son of a...!" he started to snarl to Ferris above him, reaching for the trigger...

...but it was at this point the ledge unexpectedly collapsed under his weight beneath him. Rooney fell screaming at the top of his lungs downwards, the gun flying far out of his reach. He landed with a hard splat in a large pool of mud underneath the ledge. Howling, Rooney, stumbled to his feet, covered from head to toe in mud-but only had a few seconds to process this before one of the falling rock fragments smashed into and shattered the log blocking the mud pool from the adjoining river. "Oh no...!" Rooney had just enough time to whimper before he was rapidly sucked out into the river with the rest of the mud. "This isn't over yet, Ferris!" he shouted back upstream at the rapidly retreating zip line, "I shall return and finish you!"

* * *

"Move over, Jack Dawson, now I'm king of the world!" Ferris shouted on the zip line, oblivious to what was going on far below. He spread his arms wide and let out a shout of delight. "Never imagined at the beginning of the week that you'd be able to experience kinetic energy in motion like this, huh?" he called to Brian on the parallel zip line.

"Not in a million years, Ferris!" a delighted Brian called back, reaching over to high five him, "You're right, we only live once, so might as well enjoy it!"

"Hello, Lake Olafsson!" Ferris shouted down to the boaters on the lake below as they soared over it. Fifteen seconds or so later, the station came into view on the far shore. He pressed his gloved left hand down on the line to brake, coming to a stop on the platform a second before Brian did. "I win," he told the brain with a grin.

"Fair enough," Brian conceded, unhooking himself, "I'd like to try this again before we leave, though."

"Enjoying yourselves, children?" came an unwelcome voice from the platform. Speaker Begelman was walking up the stairs towards them with the vice president and president pro tempore, a scowl welded to his face. "He's actually going through with this, is he?" the congressman glanced contemptuously up the zip lines, "I hope you kids are proud of yourselves, making him reduce himself to this," he turned to them with a scowl.

"What, what's wrong with this, Mr. Speaker!?" Natalie protested in frustration, "Can't Dad enjoy himself like every other American!?"

"This," Begelman gestured back at the line, "is not presidential! This is a...!"

"Move please, Mr. Speaker, the president's on his way down," a Secret Service agent pulled him aside. Simmons and the emir could be heard yelling in delight, their figures moving rapidly down the line. They and their guards touched down on the platform at exactly the same time. "Looks like a tie, Zaid," the president told him, unlatching his harness, "I guess we'll have to have a tiebreaker later on at some point. Ah, Doug, Bruce, Henry, glad you could all make it," he noticed the other government leaders on the platform, "You guys ought to try this some time..."

"So, you actually ditched your security detail and ran off through the woods!? Let me guess, he put you up to it, didn't he!?" Begelman shot an accusing finger at Ferris.

"Well, if you must know, yes, Mr. Speaker; I felt the president would like to have some extra time to reflect on..." Ferris told him with a grin.

"You manipulative little cancer, do you realize what you could have done!?" the Speaker raged at him, "Endangering the president's life for your own sense of thrill and entitlement!? And making him debase himself riding this thing!?" he gestured back to the zip lines, "This is not how a president is supposed to unwind! This is not how the leader of the free world is supposed to look to the nation!"

"Calm down, Begelman; Matthew and I enjoyed the afternoon," the First Lady assured him, "We weren't in any danger, we got to see more of the lake and the woods than we otherwise would have, and I can see why Natalie enjoys zip lining now; it is rather fun."

"This is insane! You've both lost it! I'm the only one with a functioning brain left at this lake!" Begelman ranted, throwing his arms over his head in disgust.

"Bruce, easy," Simmons told him with surprising harshness, "You don't dictate to me how I enjoy myself on this trip or any trip..."

"Enjoying yourself is all you've been doing, Mr. President! You've abandoned your official duties to play around with these mooching lice," the Speaker gestured at the students, "and obey their every command like a genie! All you've managed to accomplish is to embarrass the good name of your office and yourself, enact a giveaway to a load of foreign countries for nothing in return," he gestured at the emir, "and abandon all pretense of being a responsible leader! You're no longer the Matthew Simmons I once knew at the beginning of your term; now I see only an overgrown three year old who thinks high level diplomacy is a big playground for...!"

"Don't you dare talk to my husband like that, Begelman!" the First Lady angrily grabbed him by the tie, "He hasn't been goofing off at all; he's been getting back to the man I used to know when we first met! He's been trying hard on this trip to do the best for the country and the world whether you care to see it that way or not! And I'm glad to be here to be part of it; I've felt better on this trip than I have in a long time!"

"And don't you call my friends lice either, Mr. Speaker!" Natalie stepped forward with a scowl, gesturing at the other teens, "They've caused you no harm, and just because you're too uptight and dead inside to appreciate what they've done for Mom and Dad doesn't give you the right to insult them!"

"Come to mention it, Mr. Speaker, are we sure you're not my old principal's long-lost brother?" Ferris asked him with raised eyebrows, "The two of you think very much alike..."

"Shut up!" Begelman shouted at him. "I don't want to have to do this, Mr. President," he stepped forward to Simmons, "but I'm afraid that, for the good of the party and the country, I must request that you resign immediately. If you don't, Henry and I will have to bring a removal from office vote to the floor the instant we're back in Washington, and once word of everything at this lake leaks out, don't think for one minute it won't pass, right Henry?" he turned to the president pro tempore.

"Forget it, Bruce," Beard shook his head and joined the presidential couple, "We all need to enjoy ourselves once in a while. And by the way, I never liked you anyway. You're a smug, narrow-minded, unhappy man, and you make the whole party look bad. There'll be no removal from office vote brought onto the Senate floor under my watch."

"Damn it, Henry, don't tell me you've lost your sanity too!?" Begelman raged, stomping his foot hard on the ground. "Doug, you're the tiebreaking Senate vote; come on and stop this madness, and you'll get to be president yourself," he turned to the vice president, "Just bring it to the floor and..."

"Sorry, Bruce, no dice," Kenney also shook his head and joined the others, "Matt and Henry are right; you're a backwards-looking fool."

Begelman sputtered in frustration. "This is ridiculous! This is the end of America as we know it!" he bellowed out loud. "Let me be frank, then, Mr. President," he thrust a finger in Simmons' face, "You may have forgotten about serving America, but I never will. So if you won't step down, mark my words, there will be consequences."

"I'd call you out for making a threat, Bruce, but as I'm not seeking a second term, it won't matter," the president told him coolly, "I'd like for you to join me on the big stage tomorrow night at six when I announce to the press officially that I'm only serving one term; since you're so big on the image of party unity, I suppose you can manage that at least. Well, everyone, I think it's just about dinner time, so why don't we go back to the lodge and gorge ourselves?" he asked the rest of his party.

"Wonderful; let's go eat," the vice president clapped his hands eagerly and bustled for the stairs-where he promptly tripped on the top step and fell head over heels all the way to the bottom. The other politicians slapped their hands to their faces. "I knew we should have found a better position in the party for him than one this high-profile...!" Beard muttered out loud.

"I told the chairman that, but does he listen to me? No! The country would be better off without him too...!" Begelman snarled under his breath.

"For the last time, Bruce, we're not taking anyone out of office, no matter how much of a clueless klutz Doug is, so just drop it," Beard told him sternly, "Maybe you should consider stepping down yourself if you're going to be this cold..."

"I'm being reasonable, Henry; you and Matt are the lunatics...!"

"The conversation's over, Bruce," the president cut the House leader off. "Like I said, everyone, let's have a feast," he told the others, leading the way towards the stairs.

"You guys go on; I'll catch up in a minute," Claire called at the back of the crowd. She walked over to Begelman, who was now pounding his fist off the railing in disgust. "Um, Mr. Speaker, I hope I'm not..."

"What!?" he snapped at her, spinning around in a flash.

"Um, if it's not too much to ask, I know Jeremy's been working hard for you since this afternoon, but if you could give him permission to come along with us to dinner, I'd..."

"Huh? What's this with O'Connor?"

"He started out on the hike with us, but had to leave when you called saying you needed him to do more work for him this afternoon..."

"What are you talking about!? I didn't call him today at all. He's probably back at the congressional aides' cabins on Deer Trail Lane partying or getting drunk or having sex; I don't know why they force me to take on these damn kids when they can't focus for a minute. Now excuse me, I'm a very busy man who wants to work for this country's good, unlike others in this government!" the Speaker pushed roughly past her and stormed down the stairs, leaving a wide-mouthed Claire behind. "No, he wouldn't, he wouldn't...!" she mumbled desperately, shaking her head, "Not after he said everything he did to me about how special he thought I was...but what if he is!? What if it was all just a...no, no, you're just being paranoid, Standish," she told herself, taking a deep breath, "There's probably a perfectly good explanation for why he had to leave if it wasn't for what he said it was. You're just over exaggerating things...but what if I'm not!? Either way, he didn't tell me the truth! What if he is seeing someone else, and Bender was...well, I guess there's just one thing to...no, no, I don't want to know," she stiffened up, "Even if he is double dealing with me, I just don't want to know..."

She took a few steps towards the exit stairs, but then stopped and scrunched up in pain. "But I HAVE to know!" she whimpered, fighting back tears, "All right," she took a deep breath, "Deer Trail Lane, here I come...!"

* * *

"I don't believe it!" O'Donoghue shouted furiously into his radio inside the cabin, "The one time he has to break away from Secret Service protection, and it ruins a perfect plan!"

"Sorry, Hank, he outwitted us," Ernest admitted sheepishly, "I saw him enter the hotel myself, safe and sound. We'll have to come up with a backup plan to the backup plan."

"Damn it!" the militia leader roared angrily, tossing his radio to the ground and kicking it, "This was supposed to be a simple assassination!" he ranted out loud, kicking the cabin door back open, "But Simmons keeps getting the last laugh on us! Well, nobody mocks Hank O'Donoghue and the free American people! Mark my word, Simmons, you will not get away with this! One way or another, you will be dead by the time I leave this lake...!"

"Uh, Hank...?" Gaylord hesitantly approached him.

"What!?" O'Donoghue spun towards him.

"Well, there is some good news, Hank. Explosive trucks are on time; ETA should be at about quarter to midnight. And on top of that, a couple of the guys on recon found an old mine about five miles down that way," he pointed, "It seems to branch out in every direction around the lake, and there's lots of boxes of old dynamite in it. So we're set for explosives."

"Well that's good, but how can we use them if we don't have a plan!?" O'Donoghue shouted at him, "If we...?"

"Captain," Moose was approaching from the other direction with a cell phone in hand, "I just got a call. You may want to listen to this."

"This better be good," O'Donoghue snatched it off him. "Hello? Who is this?" he asked. His eyes went wide. "This really you? Really? Well what do you want?" His jaw dropped in surprise. "Well, if you're being honest here, that's very interesting. Tell you what, I'm working on a contingency plan right now. I've been told there's an old mine deep in the woods not far from where I am; I'll turn this over to one of my guys in a minute, and he'll give you the directions," he nodded at Gaylord, "Come alone at quarter to midnight, and we'll see if we can get a mutual arrangement here. Now so you know, if this is a trick and you double cross me, you and your whole family are dead, got it? All right, see you then. Gaylord, tell him where to go," he handed the phone to his explosives expert. "I think we may be back in the money, Moose," he told his top aide, rubbing his hands in delight, "If those mine tunnels go where I want them to go, we can strike without anyone noticing. By the way, did you hear anything from those two idiots yet...?"

* * *

"Keep walking, you cretin!" Vernon angrily ordered Bender, hauling him back to his feet and giving him a rough shove forward after he stumbled over a root.

"Don't shove, Dick, or I won't go another step!" Bender threatened him right back, "And I want to know what the hell this is all about!"

"This is about being the biggest damn pain in every single detention I had to run...!"

"Language, language, Dick; you know how bad you teachers look when you curse like..."

"Shut up!" Vernon shoved him hard into a large tree, "This is for humiliating me, this is for costing me my job, this is for turning all the parents and the school board against me, this is for me losing my house, my marriage, my dignity, everything that meant everything to me! And when I'm done teaching you the lesson you'll never forget, Mr. Rooney and I will take care of the rest of your little posse!"

"Wait, Eddie's here with you too?" Bender exclaimed. "Well, why am I not surprised; you and he are practically gay lovers anyway, so why not...?"

"I SAID SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!" Vernon furiously pistol-whipped Bender over the head with his gun, sending him falling to the ground. Before the boy could recover, Vernon dove on top of him and started choking him out wildly. "You need to work on your anger-management skills, Dick...!" he managed to gasp out. Vernon angrily slugged him hard in the chest with one hand, then resumed choking Bender for a good minute. "All right, on your knees, hands behind your head," he ordered his former student, releasing the chokehold and cocking the pistol, "I want to end you as painlessly as I can."

"Sorry, Dick, no way," Bender sat upright and folded his arms defiantly across his chest, "John Bender does not die like a coward. You want to shoot me, shoot me in the face. You don't want to be a..."

"All right, have it your way! Time to go to hell, you worthless filth!" Vernon pointed the gun between Bender's eyes, "Say goodbye...!"

"Goodbye, Dick," Bender swung his legs up and kicked Vernon hard in the balls. He grabbed hold of the pistol and tried to pull it out of the former superintendent's hands. "Let go, you little disease!" Vernon bellowed, grappling hard with his detention rival as the two of them maneuvered dangerously close to the drop off a high bank into a deep stream, "You and your friends are all dead when Mr. Rooney and I get through with you, and there's nothing you or they can do to stop it!"

"I may go today, Dick, but if I do, I'm taking you with me!" Bender took one look down at the river, then abruptly threw himself sideways off the bank, taking the stunned Vernon with him. The two of them hit the water hard and were carried down the fast-flowing stream, still struggling for control of the gun. Neither, however, noticed the large boulder in the middle of the stream, although Bender did turn to see it a split second before he and his nemesis slammed hard into it, and everything went black...


	13. Rage and Pain

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The previously established Hughesian character cameoing here is trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation.

* * *

"This is a reserved area for congressional aides, miss," a guard walked up to Claire outside the aides' cabins.

"Presidential ID; this gives me free reign," Claire thrust the badge on her blouse in his face and pushed by him. She walked briskly up to the center cabin of the cluster, from inside which loud music and happy voices could be heard. She reached the door and hesitated, then took a deep breath and pounded on the door hard. "Uh, can I help you?" another boy stuck his head out.

"Is Jeremy O'Connor in? I need to speak to him."

"Jeremy? Uh, he's not in right now, had to go run an errand," the boy said, but in a haphazard way that made it quite clear to Claire he was lying. "Look, you're not going to brush me off!" she told him roughly, pushing the door open, "If he's in here, we're going to have to talk; he left the hike we were on earlier and wasn't on the level with me about where he was going."

"Jeremy's kind of busy right now...!" the boy protested. Claire noticed his eyes shoot nervously towards a door across the living room. Her stomach started sinking at the thought of what that could well mean...but, having come this far, she simply had to know for sure. She strode towards it, pushing through the sea of partying aides in the living room. "Miss, you don't want to go in there!" the boy protested, pale, trying to pull her back by the arm.

"Oh don't I!? Let go of me!" she shoved his hand away. Reaching the door, she took another nervous breath, grabbed the knob, and threw it open...

...but, even with the prior hint that something had been amiss, still gasped in shock and stumbled backwards at the sight of Jeremy undressed in bed with an attractive blonde girl. "I said don't disturb...!" Jeremy looked up...and turned deathly pale. "Oh no...!" he whimpered, horrified, "Claire...how'd...!?"

"How could you...!?" the words shot out of her mouth like bullets.

"Claire, I...I didn't...this...I...!"

"HOW COULD YOU!?" she screamed in pain and rage at him, tears flowing down her face, "You said I was special, that you felt something for me; were you two timing me the whole time!?"

"Who the hell is this, Jeremy!?" the other girl demanded, jerking upright and wrapping the blankets around herself for modesty, "Have you been seeing someone else behind my back!?"

"No, Ann...uh...well...maybe...um...!"

"He practically hit on me today and yesterday, conveniently without mentioning you!" Claire bellowed, turning murderously to Jeremy, "Was she the only one, or were you seeing anyone else too!?"

"Claire, I can explain everything...!"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT, JEREMY O'CONNOR!" she screamed at him at the top of her lungs, not caring that the party behind her had come to a complete halt at her shout, "It all makes sense now; you always ran back to her when you got tired of me! You never had any intention of being faithful to me, or her, or anyone, you backstabbing snake! This was hers too, wasn't it!?" she pulled the ring he'd given her off her finger, "You had her name engraved on it, didn't you, and you scratched it off so you could give it to me, right!? Well here, she's here with you now, give it to her!" she hurled the ring at him in contempt.

"Claire, please, I...!" Jeremy desperately leaped out of bed to protest. Claire greeted him with three hard slaps to the face, then picked up the lamp from the nightstand and hurled it at him, just missing his head. She turned and rushed out the door, sobbing hard into her hands, only barely hearing another slap ring out and Jeremy's date furiously telling him they were done for good. Claire didn't care; she didn't care about Jeremy O'Connor, or the gifts he'd given that had meant nothing. She only cared about getting far away from the cabin, and trying to find a place where she could dull the pain.

* * *

"So how's it going up there so far?" the familiar face of Andie Walsh greeted Allison on the screen of Natalie's laptop inside the hotel's exercise room.

"Pretty good so far, actually," Allison told her, shifting around on the floor, "Andy's getting ready to have an exhibition with the emir's nephew, who's training for the Olympics," she rolled aside so her friend could see Andrew, now dressed in wrestling gear Ahmed had loaned him, doing last minute push-ups across the room, "I have some doubts about it," she continued, "But I guess we shouldn't prompt an international incident."

"Guess not. And Natalie Simmons, good to see you," Andie greeted the president's daughter, "We were in the pool at the White House together the one time towards the end of the senior class trip; sorry I didn't get a chance to say hello more formally."

"Same here; there were just too many in your class to really get to know then. Wish you could have been able to come here too," Natalie told her.

"If I'd had more advance notice that Allison's friends were going up, maybe I could have asked. But she can tell me all about it when she gets back."

"You might be interested in knowing, Allison made a special request to my father for you," Natalie said with a wry grin.

"Really? What?"

"It's a surprise," Allison cut in quickly, "I'm not sure if he can deliver on it, but it was my way of saying thanks for..."

"Ahmed is ready, Andrew," one of the emir's bodyguards stuck his head in the door. Allison took a deep nervous breath. "Well, guess I've got to go now," she told Andie, "I hope I'm just being paranoid that something's going to go wrong here. Maybe I'll call in again before we come back; if not, have a good rest of the week and make sure Blaine does one more nice thing for you before you leave for college."

"Thanks. Have a great time, Allison," Andie signed off. "Seems like she's nice," Natalie told Allison, closing down the laptop, "Amazing how much she and Claire are dead ringers for each other, though."

"Yeah, after I met Claire, I realized that," Allison conceded, "But at least life's looking up for Andie either way; she got a good scholarship to Millikin, which should be able to lift her out of poverty, and since it looks like her boyfriend's serious about committing now, she'll finally be happy. Now it comes down to whether your father can find anything about her mother."

"I hope he can," Natalie nodded, "Even damaged families should have the chance to be whole."

"Well," Andrew had approached, looking nervous, "This is it. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Andy," she gave him a good luck kiss, "Just come out standing tall."

"If that bell rings, and I'm still standing, Adrian, I'll know for once I wasn't just some bum from the neighborhood," Andrew channeled Rocky as best he could.

"That's the spirit, Rock; get in there and fight like a tank!" Ferris again mimicked Mickey, putting an arm around the wrestler. He led Andrew towards the door, and down the hall to the conference room, where the exhibition would take place, the rest of their party trailing behind. When they reached it, however, a sea of cameras greeted them. "What? What's going on here?" Andrew asked the nearby emir worriedly.

"I figured that you deserved to have your great moment shown to all the world, Andrew Clark," the emir told him with a smile, "Anyone who can take Ahmed to the next level deserves that much."

"Um...well...I had no idea this was going to be televised..." Andrew gulped.

"We're dead," Cameron groaned in terror behind him, "Somebody's family's going to see this; we're so dead."

"Is there a problem?" the emir frowned.

"Uh...not really. Could you excuse me for one minute here?" Andrew hastily back out into the hall. "I, I can't do this in front of cameras," he stammered to everyone else, "I don't work well on television..."

"Andy, there's nothing to worry about," Melissa stepped forward and took his hand, "We all believe in you. Just shut the cameras out and keep telling yourself, 'I've got this, I've got this.' It worked for me, so it's going to work for you. Now go on, we've all been looking forward to this."

She gave him a gently push into the room. Andrew gave a soft nod. "Yeah, got to go ahead with it," he took a deep breath.

"That spirit, Andy-san. Remember, not just wax on, wax off, also remember clean windshield, rotate tires, check emissions, and test brakes. And also give new paint job if necessary," Ferris told him as Mr. Miyagi again. He patted the wrestler on the shoulder, then skipped into the center of the room, where a wrestling mat had been set up. He gestured one of the emir's aides for a microphone. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, it is time now for our main event, officially sanctioned by no one. And so, without further ado, for the dozens here tonight, and the thousands soon to take this in around the world, from the Grand Whitecap Lodge at Lake Olafsson, ladies and gentlemen...LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLET'S GET READY TO RUMBBLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE...and yes, I know the phrase is trademarked, Mr. Buffer, so I'll send along the royalty payment the next chance I get," he asided over his shoulder before continuing, "Introducing first to my right, hailing from Kuwait City, Kuwait, at a weight of 199 pounds, he's rolling down the road to Nairobi, here is Ahmed bin Mubarak al-Sabah! And to my left, hailing from Shermer, Illinois, USA, weighing 191 pounds, he finished third in states this past year and in sophomore year, give a big welcome to Andrew 'the Patriot Missile' Clark!"

He bowed to the applauded crowd, then bustled off. "'Patriot Missile,' Ferris?" Andrew gave him a confused look with raised eyebrows.

"I wanted something that would sound strong and patriotic. He's all yours," Ferris waved him towards the mat. Andrew nodded and walked over to where Ahmed was standing. "Good luck," he shook the Kuwaiti wrestler's hand.

"Good luck to you," Ahmed told him in turn. The two of them clasped hands as the large Kuwaiti coach who'd agreed to referee stepped to their side. "Ready? Begin," he commanded, blowing his whistle.

"Go get him, Andy; you've got this!" Melissa shouted loudly over everyone else. Andrew and Ahmed twisted around, tumbling to their knees and rolling over repeatedly on the mat. Eventually, however, just as the first minute was about to expire, Andrew managed to squirm upright, reverse out of the headlock Ahmed had him in, and arm dragged him down to the mat. "Point to the American," the referee called out, "Assume par terre position."

Andrew obligingly took Ahmed around the waist. When the whistle blew again, he strained to lift him up...

...but suddenly, a concerned and fearful look spread on his face. He relinquished the grip, staring numbly at Ahmed, even after the Kuwaiti had slipped the hold and rolled him down for another point. "Are you all right, Andrew Clark?" he asked him, concerned.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine; just a little freeze there," Andrew gulped. He bent down to let Ahmed take the previous position with him for the next cinch. When the whistle blew this time, he strained backwards, twisted around, and locked his opponent into a bear hug. He pushed Ahmed down to the mat and strained to hold him down...

...but stopped as the horrified expression spread on his face again. He froze completely, staring numbly at Ahmed's face, as if he was seeing something else. "Oh no...!" Allison gasped in the crowd, having noticed it. "Stop, stop the match!" she shouted to the referee, but her voice was drowned out by the shouting crowd. On the mat, Ahmed threw the frozen Andrew into an impressive reverse body lift, then put him in a headlock and pinned him to the ground, "What is going on!? Why are you quitting like this!?" he demanded to his opponent, stunned that he was getting no resistance.

"I...I can't...!" Andrew stammered weakly, still frozen.

"Stop, stop!" a horrified Allison rushed forward, waving her hands wildly. Ahmed indeed broke off and rolled backwards, confused. "Andy, what's happening, are you all right!?" she bent down to his level.

"I...I can't do this, I'm sorry," Andrew mumbled a weak apology to her, then looked forlornly at Ahmed. "I'm sorry, I'm not the person you want. I...I need to be alone right now..."

He rose up and trudged out of the room to utter silence from all the spectators. "OOOOOkay, well, I guess we're going to need a brief time out here," Ferris hastily rushed for the microphone, "Go take about fifteen minutes to take care of whatever you need, and we'll see if we're going to have more tonight or not..."

* * *

"Andy, it's me, please let me in!" Allison pounded worriedly on the door to the boys' suite.

"I said I needed to be alone, Allison," came his weak response from inside.

"Andy, it's me; you know you can talk to me if no one else! Now come on, tell me what happened!?" she demanded to him. Footsteps slowly approached the door, which swung open. "Are you alone?" an ashen faced Andrew looked out.

"Yes, I told everyone to wait downstairs while I came here," she told him firmly. Andrew softly waved her inside. "I'm done, I'm spent," he lamented, slumping down on the bed and wiping at his eyes, "I can't wrestle anymore..."

"Why not!? Why are you this frozen up!? You can tell me, you know..."

"I know, I know," he took her hand, "When I had him like that, and I was trying to...suddenly it wasn't Ahmed I was holding, it was...it was Larry all over again. That's...that's how I had him when...IT...happened..."

"Oh god," Allison winced, "It brought back all those bad memories..."

"Yeah," her boyfriend nodded grimly, shaking his head, "And no matter how much I tried to, I couldn't stop seeing him as Larry. And now that I feel so terrible about what I did to the guy, I just..."

"You couldn't go through with it, not after seeing how it traumatized Larry," she realized, "Oh god, Andy, I had no idea it still hurt that much..."

"It's going to keep hurting, Allison, I know that now," Andrew slumped his face into the mattress, "No matter where I go, no matter what I do, Larry Lester's going to haunt me for the rest of my days. I can't wrestle again; he'll turn up every time I try, and the same thing'll happen over and over again." He glanced up at her forlornly. "It's ironic; in detention, I said how much I wished my leg would shatter so I couldn't wrestle, and Dad could get off my case; now, it's happened for all intents and purposes, and I'm not even remotely relieved. What am I going to do now!?" he sniffed hard, "I have no other talents; how am I going to survive out there in the real world!?"

"Andy, you'll find something; we'll find something together...!"

"I hope. But I'm not confident. Now if it's all right, Allison, I'd like to be alone."

"Andy, you're in no shape to..."

"Allison, please," he gave her a pleading look, then slumped back down again. Lowering her head, Allison walked out of the room and trudged down the hall. She continued down the stairs to the lobby, then out the front door and down to the beach, where she sat down on the sand and buried her own face in her hands, sighing sadly.

The sound of laughter made her look up. Melissa was with Brian on the other end of the beach, helping to set up the new telescope he'd gotten for her. The blonde was visibly smiling in delight even from Allison's position across the beach. And in that moment, a spark of rage started burning in her. She rose back up and marched over to the two brains with increasing haste. "...see if we can aim it for the Andromeda Galaxy," Melissa could heard saying as she punched in several commands on the telescope's keypad, "I think we'll be able to get a great close-up of it tonight...oh, hi, Allison," she greeted the approaching brunette, "Andy feeling any better?"

In a flash, Allison grabbed hold of the telescope and shoved it down hard to the sand. "Hey, hey, hey!" Brian protested, straining to lift it back up, "This cost me over a hundred bucks, Allison...!"

"It was a waste of your money!" she bellowed at him, then rounded on Melissa. "I hope you're proud of yourself; Andy's a broken wreck who thinks he's no good at wrestling anymore!" she snarled at the other girl.

"What are you yelling at me for!?" Melissa protested with a scowl, "I'm not the...!"

"Who was the one who kept pushing him to do it!? Who was the one who insisted there was nothing for him to worry about!? You, that's who!" Allison thrust an angry finger in Melissa's face, "You pushed him too far without thinking about what it might do to him! You didn't stop and think for one moment that he could be traumatized by what's gone on in his life before; you had to see him wrestle no matter what!"

"Allison, come on; I understand you're worried for Andy, but this isn't...!" Brian tried to reason with her.

"Stay out of this, Brian; I don't want to have beef with you too!" she thrust her finger at him, then turned back to Melissa and barked, "And do you care? No; you're out here gazing at your precious stars while Andy cries in his room! Some friend you are!"

"Now just a minute, you!" Melissa's face contorted with rage, "Don't you take out your problems on me! If he'd said he'd had any issues beforehand, I wouldn't have pushed it, so don't you dare bite my head off, because...!"

"Because what!? Because you're so special, getting straight As all the time and getting the president to take your rockets without a second thought!? Well it just makes you a conceited, uncaring tramp, that's what!" Allison raged at her.

"Oh no you don't! You don't hit me like that and get away with it!" a furious Melissa took hard steps towards the brunette, "I've taken flack from jealous girls all throughout my school career, and I've decided recently that I'm going to stand up for myself going forward, and that includes with a so-called friend like you...!"

"Girls, girls, please; you don't want to do this...!" Brian desperately tried to step between them.

"I can handle this, Brian!" his girlfriend pushed him aside, "Go ahead and be the bully to me; I don't care!" she shouted to Allison, "You think I don't have the moral high ground over a wallet-snatching Goth punk anyway...!?"

"Melissa...!" Brian gasped, stunned that the girl he loved could say such a thing.

"Oh really!?" livid, Allison jammed her finger hard into Melissa's chest, "Well, Miss Perfect, it looks like the pot's calling the kettle black; how dare you call me out for that when Brian made it clear a while back you're an unconvicted jewel thief yourself! (Brian put his face in his hands in shame and sighed in grief) You think you're so much better than everyone else; well, you're not! And you'd better tell Andy you're sorry, or there's going to be hell to pay at this lake!"

"Oh I will, but I won't to you unless you say you're sorry too!" Melissa snarled, "And you can put me down about my grades all you want, but ten years from now, I'll have a good, solid life with steady work, while you'll probably be skulking around town on welfare desperately scrounging for any job you can! How does that sound, huh!?"

"You dirty little...!" Allison gave her a shove. Seconds later, Melissa unloaded with an even harder shove that sent the brunette tumbling to the sand. "Hey, stop, stop!" Ferris, having witnessed the fracas from the parking lot with Cameron and Sloane, came rushing over. "You all right?" he tried to help Allison to her feet.

"Just fine; let go of me!" she brushed his hands away. "You can go to hell, you little ingrate!" she shouted angrily at Melissa, who had clapped her hands over her mouth in horror at the harshness of her actions, "And since you were never in detention with us that day, you were never one of us, and you never will be! You'll never be our friend! And Brian," she spun to him, "It's her or me now. Make up your mind real soon!"

She turned and stormed off down the beach. "Allison, wait, I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything I...!" a guilty-looking Melissa tried to shout to her, but the brunette kept stomping away. Melissa's shoulders slumped in shame. "Brian, I...I...!" she mumbled apologetically to him.

"I know," he mumbled just as numbly, "But maybe it would be better right now if we...just for a while..."

"Yeah, I understand. I'm so sorry, Brian; I shouldn't have put you through this," she started trudging away, her whole body sagging in grief. Brian slumped to the ground and lowered his head into his knees. "I'm sure they didn't mean it, Brian," an equally numb Ferris bent down to his level.

"Do I really have to choose now between the friend I like and the girl I love?" Brian lamented, "I can't make that decision. To see them both go off like that...why did this all have to happen!?"

"I don't know," Ferris shook his own head grimly, "I just don't know."

"This was supposed to be a great week together with each other," Brian mumbled miserably, "We were supposed to be able to relax and unwind, to enjoy our company one last time. Look at us now: Bender left, Andy's an emotionally shattered wreck, Allison's on the warpath. And something went wrong with Claire and Jeremy, I just know it. She'd have been back by now if there wasn't. Maybe I should have just given Allison the green light to take his wallet when I had the chance; it would have spared Claire the pain of whatever she had to see with him. So it's my fault if she's hurting now..." He slowly turned to Ferris with a forlorn expression. "I know you meant well, Ferris, but maybe you shouldn't have invited us up here."

He rose up and slouched off towards the hotel with his head hung low. "This really fell apart quick," Cameron said grimly, approaching from behind with Sloane, "Maybe he's right, Ferris, maybe we shouldn't have brought them along if they were going to all end up like this."

"I just...I just wanted to share the experience with people I usually didn't," Ferris shook his head in regret, "I didn't mean for anything like this to end up happening. You believe me, right?" he looked up at his friends.

"We know, Ferris," Sloane nodded, "Maybe in the morning they'll have calmed down enough."

"I hope so. It can't end like this," Ferris mumbled, "If it's anyone's fault Andy's broken, it's mine; I built him up so much for that encounter without thinking of what his demons could have been..." he shook his head softly, "I have to make that right. No matter what else happens this week, Dr. Bueller has to find the prescription to make everything right for everyone, I swear it..."

* * *

"Give it your best shot, Ferris," Stanpovalichki said out loud to him from the grove of trees closest to the hotel, where he had a clear view of the dock and everything that had just transpired there "The rest'll have to be up to them, though."

He sighed and slumped against a tree. "I hate it when things go wrong like this, Keema," he admitted to his pet, "I hope they can step back and realize things aren't really as bad as they seem, that if they..."

Suddenly Keema started barking loudly and pulling at his leash. "What? What is it, buddy? What's...?" Stanpovalichki stopped and turned in the direction the dog was barking. The headlights of trucks could be seen driving through the woods a few miles behind them. "What's going on here?" the homeless man frowned, "Well, since we're dead and can be invisible whenever we want, couldn't hurt to check it out..."

He and Keema bustled in the direction of the headlights. A few minutes later, they had reached the location the trucks had come to a stop at, in front of a mine set into a hillside. "Explosives trucks..." Stanpovalichki mused, staring at the explosives symbols on each vehicle, "What's this about...?"

"Hank, our packages are here," one of the men wearing fatigues standing around the mine called down the shaft.

"Great, great," O'Donoghue climbed out the hole, "How much we got?"

"About thirty tons, from three different arsenals. Had to kill a few people at one of them, but we're set in case we need to set anything off," one of the truck drivers called down from his cab.

"And we've got about four more tons of old dynamite down in there," O'Donoghue pointed into the mine, "So we just need to..."

"Halt, identify yourself!" came a shout from the front of the trucks, followed by the sound of semi-automatics cocking.

"Easy, easy! Bruce D. Begelman, Speaker of the United States House of Representatives!" came the high-pitched response.

"It's all right, men, he called earlier," O'Donoghue told his men, who shouldered their arms. "Are you alone!?" he demanded to the Speaker.

"Completely, and no one saw me leave the hotel," Begelman stepped hesitantly into the clearing, illuminated in the trucks' headlights.

"All right, nice to be able to do business with you, Mr. Speaker-I hope," O'Donoghue tapped his own M1 with a glare, as if to dissuade the Speaker from pulling any tricks on him, "Word around the patriot grapevine is you're a quiet supporter of our cause."

"This country is being overrun with too many people who don't belong here; it's good that average Americans like you are willing to take a stand against them and the big government that enables them. But I can't support you and others like you openly, or I'll get roasted. Winston LeJean at the NRA found out I've consorted with some of your friends; he's been blackmailing me with the information for months, threatening to expose me if I don't blindly follow his agenda," Begelman muttered in disgust, "After you finish with this, maybe you could take him out..."

"Do you have anything useful to say for this mission, Mr. Speaker!?" O'Donoghue demanded impatiently.

"Oh, yeah. I made a secret call to a parallel group to yours here in Wisconsin, and they said they'd heard you were already up here. Part of me hates to do this, but..." Begelman's face contorted in rage, "...I know how you can take out Matthew Simmons. The man is no longer fit to serve; he will drive the country permanently into the ground if he enacts any of the policies that he's made clear he wants to. Thanks to that damn Ferris Wheeler, or whatever his name is, Simmons has become an overgrown infant, a disgrace to the office of president. He won't resign, and my colleague in the Senate won't bring a removal from office bill to a vote. So Simmons has to be taken out violently to save America. Tomorrow at six, he'll be making a speech on the main stage outlining his agenda coming from this summit, and announcing that he won't be seeking a second term. I think the vice president'll be there with him, so that's two birds you can take out with one stone."

"Very interesting indeed," O'Donoghue's face had lit up like a Christmas tree, "And going by the rules of succession, that means you'd then become the president if they both die..."

"Yes, I'll admit the thought did cross my mind," Begelman smiled, "If the voters were too cold to give me my fair chance last time, they'll have to like me if they have no choice but to have me as their president. Do it right, O'Donoghue, and I can pay you fifty thousand afterwards," he drew a large wad of cash from his pocket and extended it towards the militant leader.

"You know as well as I do, Mr. Speaker, that this green paper is worthless, a means by the criminal foreign Jew-led Federal Reserve cartel to keep us enslaved monetarily to them," O'Donoghue growled, pushing the money away, "You want to pay me for this, you better pay me in gold, which is the only true currency in this country..."

"All right, all right, do the job right, and I'll arrange for a withdrawal from Fort Knox to be delivered to you the first chance I get!" the Speaker rolled his eyes in disgust, "You have my word on that. But I want one promise from you, O'Donoghue," he held up a hand, his expression becoming concerned, "Whatever you do, don't hurt Natalie. I don't want her blood on my conscience. Find some way to get her off the stage before you strike. Promise?"

"Well, I'll see what I can do," O'Donoghue said with a forced smile.

"As for Ferris Wheeler and the other kids who've ruined Simmons, however, feel free to include them in the body count," Begelman's scowl returned, "We need to send a message to all the uppity youth out there that they have to learn their place and let us grown-ups run things."

"Well, if we have time, we'll look into it for you."

"One other thing: I know how you can breech the security perimeter," the Speaker added with a brief nervous shudder at the gravity of how far he was going, "I'm close with the head of the Secret Service unit up here; I can convince him to send a whole bunch of agents into the woods here on a check. Then your men can jump them and..."

"...take their places and ensure no one gets close to Simmons before we kill him," O'Donoghue broke into a cold laugh, "I love the way your mind works, Mr. Speaker."

"The emir'll be up there with Simmons as well, to announced his stupid Middle Eastern Arab alliance. Try and take him out too. I'm sick of playing nice with those savages, especially after they..." Begelman stopped and started sniffing, "My brother was in the Pentagon, right at the spot where the plane hit...they never found any remains. To work with the Arabs all this time after they did that...I'm tired of it. They need to be taught a lesson as well. So take him out too and show them all that they don't cut America and get away with it."

"I think that could be arranged. Now, so you know, if this is a trick and you're setting me up, Begelman," O'Donoghue drew his combat knife and held it right in the Speaker's face, "Not only are you dead, but so is your whole family and everyone you've ever known in your whole life. Keep that in mind."

"Certainly, O'Donoghue; this isn't a trick, trust me," Begelman gulped.

"All right, we'll be watching. But if this is on the level, congratulations, Mr. President," O'Donoghue grinned, withdrawing the knife. Begelman nodded softly, took a deep breath, and started walking briskly away. "Trusting idiot," O'Donoghue snickered to one of his men after the politician had left, "Natalie Simmons has to die too to send the message that no one in the one percent puppet government who've oppressed us all are safe from the people's wrath. And while the Arabs are lice, every true patriot knows full well the United States government brought down the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on the Jews' orders so they could reap more money from foreign wars. Hey Gaylord," he called down the mine shaft, "Do you think one of those tunnels leads to the main stage here at the lake!?"

"Kind of looks like it does, Hank," Gaylord called back up.

"Confirm it; if it's not all the way to the stage, dig it there! We're going to set up a little surprise for Simmons when he makes a speech there tomorrow night. Unload the trucks, men!" O'Donoghue ordered the rest of his command, "I want every ounce of explosives positioned under the stage by the time Simmons steps on it!"

The men hustled to unload the explosives. "Oh boy. Oh boy...!" a numb Stanpovalichki stumbled backwards from the mine, "This just got a whole lot more serious, Keema," he admitted to his pet, "We'll have to do something...if we legally can do anything," he frowned, pulling out a large manual from his coat pocket and leafing through it, "I don't know if we'd be overstepping our mandate if we interfered with this...maybe I could confirm it one way or the other if we call upstairs..."

He stepped into the bushes and dug out an old fashioned handheld radio, then twisted the dials on it. "J.W., you there? Stanpovalichki calling in...evening, J.W. Listen, I've got a possible situation here, and I was wondering...what? They are?" his expression fell, "Well, uh, you see, J.W., Keema and I thought we'd earned a break, and since we can be omnipresent, I thought that...huh? Conference? When? How long? J.W., I might need to be here; there's some people down here who're...all right, yeah, I'll be there," he sighed, twisting the dials to disconnect. "Bad news, pal, they want to see us about leaving the greater Chicago area when that's our territory," he told Keema with a shake of the head, "Hope we can wrap this up quick and get back here; I don't like the looks of where things are headed down here now...assuming we would be allowed to do anything with it, that is..."


	14. Easing of the Souls

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Hughesian character appearing in this chapter-whose continuity from my story Viva la Holidays la Las Vegas is continued here-is trademarked by Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation and the Hughes estate. With his appearance, you can probably take a guess at what's eventually coming, but I hope the journey to that is nonetheless entertaining and unpredictable for you. Continuing on:

* * *

"Ferris? Ferris, wake up; we've got trouble here!"

Ferris groaned and rolled over in bed to see a worried Cameron staring down at him. "What's going on, Cam?" he asked sleepily.

"Everything. Andy's not here, Melissa's not across the hall; they must have walked out in the middle of the night!" his best friend told him, "And Claire never came back last night either. So we've got big problems."

"Oh no," Ferris groaned, jerking upright, "I was afraid something like this might happen. Did you check around the hotel grounds?"

"Brian's doing that right now; Sloane and Allison are checking everywhere else downstairs, just in case they're still in the building somewhere. But I'm not confident," Cameron shook his head, "After everything that happened, they may well have skipped the lake completely for all I know!"

"Let's see," Ferris rushed to the bedroom window, "Both cars are still there, so none of them drove away," he noted both Ferraris were still where he'd parked them earlier in the week, "If they left, it was on foot, which means they can't have gone far."

"Unless they left in the dead of night!" Cameron pointed out, "At which point they could be halfway to the Illinois state line by now, especially if somebody picked them up outside the lake...!"

"I doubt it, Cameron," Ferris rapidly dressed, "Come on, we'll see what we can find out there."

He and Cameron rushed out the door to the elevator. A minute and a half later, they charged into the lobby, where Allison could be seen in a tense conversation with Wally at the front desk. "...went to bed at two, and none of them had left at that point," the hotel owner was telling her.

"Well who was on duty overnight!?" Allison demanded, her face racked with clear regret for her angry conduct the night before.

"That would be Leonard, but he doesn't have a phone in his cabin, and he's probably sound asleep by now," Wally told her, "I can send someone over there if you'd like..."

"Do it! Pound on the door until you get a clear answer; we've got to find out where they all went!" Allison shouted. She slumped her head on the counter as Wally sauntered off to follow through on her request. "Why...!?" she lamented out loud.

"Feeling better today?" Ferris hesitantly approached her.

"I had no idea Andy would be so bad he'd walk out like this. And Melissa...I didn't mean what I said," Allison lamented, guilt spreading rapidly on her face, "I was so upset that Andy was so broken inside that...I guess I wanted someone to blame for it. But it wasn't her fault. She didn't know what he was going through; he never told her the full extent of what the Larry Lester incident had done to him inside. I didn't even know it was that bad. I can't blame her for saying what she did back to me; she was still wrong to say it, but she wouldn't have if I hadn't..." she started sniffing, "I like Melissa, I see a bit of myself in her; why did I have to be so angry...!?"

"I'm sure she'd understand if we can find her," Ferris told her sympathetically.

"I hope it's not if but when. I do need to tell her I'm sorry...anything!?" she turned to Sloane as the cheerleader came running up the hall.

"None of them are in the building; not in the pool, not in the restaurant, not in the exercise room, nothing," Sloane shook her head grimly, "Did you try Andy's cell phone?"

"I can't; he left it behind in his room, maybe on purpose so no one would call him-anything!?" Allison turned to Brian as he ran in the front door.

"They're not on the property," Brian shook his head grimly, "This is going to be a bigger search that I'd hoped. We'd better start out now if we want to catch them."

"Before we do, Brian, I'm sorry; I was angry and out of line last night," she apologized to him, "Melissa did nothing wrong that I didn't provoke her into doing, and I shouldn't have told you to choose between us. She's a good woman who worked hard to get where she is, and you deserve to have her."

"Well, I can understand where you came from," Brian was at least understanding, "If our positions had been reversed, I'm sure I'd have been just as out of control. I understand how much you care for Andy, and you wanted to stand up for him. So when we..."

"Look who's coming now," Cameron pointed towards the front door. Jeremy was walking briskly inside, looking worried himself. "Hey," he hailed the group down, "Is Claire in? I've got to say something to her."

"As a matter of fact, no. In fact, we haven't seen her since she went off to find you," Brian frowned at him, "So, that tells me something went wrong between the two of you that left her too hurt to come back; I know Claire. So care to enlighten us about anything?"

"Well..." Jeremy gulped and hung his head in shame, "You...You guessed right. I...she...she caught me in bed with my other girlfriend..."

"You filthy coward!" an enraged Sloane ripped into him, "So you were just stringing her along the whole time, after she had every reason to believe in you...!"

"Look, let me explain, it's not that simple...!" Jeremy tried to protest.

"Oh yes it is! When you tell a girl she means everything to you, she'd better be the only girl in your life!" Sloane roared, "It's boys like you that give...!"

"I do love her!" Jeremy shouted, bringing the tirade to a stop. "Just let me say my peace, please!?" he begged them all, "You don't have to like me-and looking at myself, I can see I'm not very likeable-but at least let me explain!" He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I didn't tell her I was dating another congressional aide. And I didn't tell that aide I had two additional girlfriends in the capital," he confessed, making the other teens groan in disgust at his duplicity, "I've been running back and forth between them for months, just like I ran back and forth between Claire and the Ann-the aide-all week..."

"You're despicable," Cameron glared at him, "Utterly and completely despicable."

"Yeah, I am, I know now," Jeremy admitted, shaking his head in shame, "I've been a complete cad, and I deserved to have Claire find me out. I also wasn't forthright with her about my background; I told her my family had railroad money, but the truth is, right now I don't have a cent to my name. I grew up in the poor section of Madison; there were times we didn't have the money to pay the electric bill or even eat. But I did tell her the truth on a few things. One of which was that my father's an angry drunk and that my mother walked out on us because of it. Another was that I did want to serve in Congress and worked every waking hour to get my internship with the Speaker. And I also told her the truth when I told her I'd fallen in love with her..."

"Why should we believe you!?" Allison snapped with a furious expression, "If you lied about all that, why shouldn't you be lying now to try and get back in her good graces!?"

"Because I'm not lying! There was just something about Claire that made her seem more special than Ann or all those other girls. At first it was just because she was pretty and rich, which was what I thought was important, but the more I got to know her, there was just so much about her that I was just captivated by-and that's the honest truth," he pleaded desperately with them, "I don't expect you to believe me after everything else I've said, but it's true: I have genuinely fallen in love with Claire. Back home in Madison, girls didn't look at me at all because I came from the wrong side of the tracks. I swore that was going to change when I got to Washington, that I was going to be the suave ladies man. And it worked; I charmed every girl I came across. But when I met Claire, I found myself genuinely falling in love. When she caught me, I was thinking over how I was going to break it off with Ann and the other girls, because I felt Claire was the one. I swear to God that's the truth. If you can find it in yourself to believe me, please, believe me! And if she's in any kind of trouble because of what I did, I have to make it right. Do you have any idea where she is!?"

"Not right now," Ferris shook his head, "We were about to go out and look..."

"I want to come too. I have to tell her how sorry I am that I two timed her. Even if she doesn't want to forgive me, I have to tell her I'm sorry. I won't be able to look at another girl going forward without comparing that girl to Claire; she's just that special..."

"We get the point!" Brian barked at him, scowling. "OK, you can come," he told Jeremy sternly, "But you'd better apologize when we find her, and it better be sincere. And if this turns out to be another charade for your own purposes," he held a fist in Jeremy's face, "you're going to get it. Claire's our friend, and if you hurt her, we hurt you. Understand!?"

"Yeah, I understand," Jeremy nodded, "I just have to make this right somehow."

"What's going on, guys?" Natalie was coming across the lobby, her security detail in tow.

"Trouble; half the people disappeared," Cameron grimly related everything to her. "Is there an official website for the lake?" he turned to Wally, who had returned to the front desk now.

"I can give you the URL if you want," Wally grabbed a pen and spare sheet of paper.

"Can you tap into that and set up an APB alert for the lake residents to see-with management's permission?" Cameron asked his girlfriend, then turned to Wally for approval, which he got with a slightly reluctant nod.

"I will when I get my laptop back. Mom asked to borrow it this morning; said she wanted to check on something, but she wouldn't tell me what," Natalie said with a confused shake of her head, "I've never seen her this determined to use a computer before. So I was coming down for breakfast while she took care of it."

"OK, have breakfast, then if you can, do that when she gives it back to you," Ferris told her, "And if you can, wait in the lobby for a while in case Claire, Andy, or Melissa come back; call my cell if they do. OK, everyone," he turned to the rest of his party, "Let's split up and start searching..."

* * *

"Look, we don't start serving liquor till after noon, miss; it's right there on the sign by the door," the bartender at the lake's primary tavern told Claire exasperatedly, "And you definitely had too much last night anyway."

"Come on, just one shot; I need this!" Claire begged him.

"What you need is to leave," he pointed at the door, "Come back tonight when you're fully sobered up."

"Fine, fine, I can take the hint!" Claire snapped, trudging with a wobble towards the door while clutching her head, which still ached from the hangover she was having. "I don't know how Mom can handle it after downing as much as she does!" she grumbled to herself. By her admittedly hazy recollection, she'd had at least five or six drinks the previous night after having caught Jeremy cheating on her, possibly more, but that had not dulled the horrible pain of the betrayal. After she had believed in him so much, it still stung hard.

She shoved the door open and walked out-bumping into another figure passing by. "Watch where you're going, you...!" she started to yell, but stopped in surprise. "Melissa? What are you doing out this way? And why are you taking your luggage?" she stared at the suitcases in the blonde's hands.

"Claire?" Melissa blinked at her, "Everyone else was worried about you. You didn't come back last night..."

"I had some issues I had to work out," Claire said quickly, "So what about you...?"

"It's best if I go," Melissa shook her head sadly, "While you were gone, Andy's match with Ahmed went wrong. It hurt Allison to see him fall apart like that, and she...she and I got into a big fight over it, and...I said some things I shouldn't have to her. She said in parting I didn't belong here, and she's right; I'm the one who pushed Andy to take that match the most, so it is my fault he ended up like he did. And since I wasn't in detention with you guys, I don't belong in your group anyway. So I'll just head on out..."

"Melissa, Melissa, don't," Claire took her hand, concerned, "You leaving won't make it better. There's got to be a better answer..."

"I shoved Allison to the ground during the fight!" Melissa lamented, sniffing in shame, "And I told her she had no future in her life; there's no way I can walk that back! And she told Brian to choose between her and me; I don't want to put him through that, so it's best if I just leave and..."

"Melissa, it's not as bad as it looks," Claire cut her off with a worried frown, "I'm sure Allison understands you didn't mean it. People say and do things in the heat of the moment they regret, but that doesn't make them bad people."

"Well I feel like I'm a bad person, Claire; I feel like I've betrayed her, Brian, and all of you..."

"You didn't, trust me on that. Come on," Claire led her towards the trees, "Let's go for a nice walk in the woods, and we can talk over all our troubles together..."

* * *

Happy children were playing all over the lake's primary beach. Andrew noticed none of them as he walked along it, his eyes numbly staring straight ahead without focusing on anything. "Wish I could be you kids," he mumbled softly at them, "Your whole lives ahead of you, and not a care in the world..."

He came to a stop and stared blankly across the lake. "Where do I go from here?" he said glumly to himself, "No talent, no obvious career, no future, no hope. It's even worse than I ever thought it would be. How do you even try to get out of this one, Clark...?"

"Andy? Is that you?" came a sudden familiar voice behind him. Andrew spun, then looked down to see himself staring a familiar blonde-mopped youngster...

"Well, Kevin McCallister, what a surprise seeing you up here," he exclaimed, shaking the hand of one of his younger brother's best friends.

"Didn't Julian mention it? We're renting a cabin up here this week," Kevin told him, "Is he here with you?"

"Nope, back home in Shermer; I'm up here with some friends of mine," Andrew explained.

"I see. One last hurrah for the members of that Saturday detention," Kevin nodded knowingly, "Julian couldn't help mentioning how often you hang out with them anymore."

"Yep. In fact, we've been staying on the president's floor at the big hotel all week; another kid in my class invited us all up after he got the invite. He helped the president on our senior class trip, and this was our reward."

"Impressive," Kevin told him, looking quite impressed. "Actually, I thought I saw you guys on stage the other night, singing. And since it was, let me just say, you may not be the best singer, but you did reasonably good."

"Well, thanks," Andrew commended him. "You out here by yourself?" he looked around, surprised to not see any other members of the McCallister family-whom he had come to know by face after all the times he'd taken his brother over to Kevin's-around. "After everything that's happened, I'm surprised they'd let you..."

"Walk around on my own? Andy, I will be eleven in three months; I'm not a baby anymore," Kevin reminded him, "And besides, now that they know what I've done the last couple of Christmases, they respect me enough to let me be more independent. How about you?" he looked up at the older boy, "What brings you out here on your own this early in the morning?"

"Well, Kevin...let's just say I needed to think a couple of things out," Andrew said with a sigh.

"Really? That bad?" Kevin frowned, "Well, Andy, I'd be glad to listen if you'd like to get them off your chest."

"You?" Andrew looked down at him quizzically, "Kevin, I appreciate the offer, really, but I've got grown-up problems right now. You wouldn't understand."

"I don't know about that. Old Man Marley and the pigeon lady in New York had grown-up problems too. I listened to them and helped them solve their problems-well, kind of in the pigeon lady's case, but she definitely felt better afterwards," Kevin told him with a firm expression.

"Well..."

"Come on," Kevin took his hand and started walking with him, "I've got the time. Tell Dr. McCallister all about it..."

* * *

"...the last word has nine letters: an increasingly popular Saturday morning club. Ready? Go," Chuck Woolery commanded the Scrabble Sprint challenger on the Clarks' TV screen back in Shermer. Reclining against the bottom of the sofa, Julian Clark was only partially paying attention, scribbling down text in his notebook on his next knight story. "OK, Sir Ethelbert, I'll just have you work your way across the Mace Bridge, and you'll finally be able to save the lovely maiden," he mused out loud, writing down the relevant words.

"How's the story coming?" his mother walked into the living room with a plate in hand.

"Almost done, Mom," Julian looked up at her with a grin.

"Good. Lunch for you," he handed him the plate, which had a steaming hamburger and chips on it, "You know, if you're not watching the TV, you shouldn't waste the electricity."

"I'm watching it, really," Julian glanced up at the screen right as the contestant hit her plunger to stop the clock with a mere three tenths of a second left and blurted out the correct answer to become the day's champion. The sound of a car door slamming made him look towards the window next. "Dad's back for lunch," he said out loud, noticing a familiar Castle Electric truck now parked in the driveway and a figure in the company's uniform striding towards the door. It swung open five seconds later. "I'm back, Corinne," Mr. Clark called out to his wife.

"So I guess the job in Wilmette was easier than you thought," she greeted him with a kiss.

"Actually it was," Mr. Clark told her, "I've got about a half hour to eat, then we're due for a big wiring job in Winnetka. What's cooking?"

"Still some hamburgers left over from last night in the fridge."

"I'll heat one up. Morning, buddy," Mr. Clark rubbed Julian's hair, "Making progress with your story?"

"Almost done, Dad."

"If you're not watching the show, can I check out the noon news?" Mr. Clark extended his hand for the remote. Julian handed it to him, and turned completely to his knight novel as his father switched away from Scrabble to the local newscast. "Simmons' summit in the North Woods again?" Mr. Clark mused, sitting down in his favorite armchair and staring at the screen, "I don't know why they're covering that so heavily; he can try all he wants, but there'll never be any Middle Eastern peace as long as...WHAT THE HELL!?" he gasped, leaping to his feet and dropping the remote and his tool bag to the floor. Julian looked up and gasped himself to see his brother on the TV screen, being pinned by another wrestler. "CORINNE!" his father shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Clarence, what is it; there's no need to...Andy!" Mrs. Clark gasped at the sight of her older son on the TV, "What's going on; why is he...!?"

"I don't know! He said he was spending the week at the Standish girl's country estate; what the hell's he doing at the president's summit up at Lake Olafsson!?" Mr. Clark bellowed, gesturing at the screen right before it cut back to the local studio anchor, "He lied to us; I don't know what his game was, but he lied to us! Where's the phone!?" he stormed towards the kitchen, "I'm gonna give him a real piece of my mind when I...!"

"Clarence, Clarence, calm down!" his wife stepped into his path, her hands on her hips, "Going postal isn't going to help the situation!"

"Corinne, he tricked us! I don't want to hear anything about your soft hippie approach to parenting this time; he's got to learn...!"

"Clarence, I said relax!" she shouted, bringing him to silence, "I'm upset too, and I'm not happy Andy wasn't honest with us, but there's probably a rational explanation for this. Now, I'm going to call the Standish estate and see what if anything we can find..."

"You can't, Corinne; the Standishes' country estate doesn't have a phone! I should know; we redid the wiring there just before Thanksgiving. That's probably why he said he was going there; he knew he couldn't get caught with no phone!"

"All right, then; call your co-workers and tell them you can't go with them to Winnetka this afternoon..."

"Corinne, this is a big job; I can't just blow this off...!"

"Clarence, our son trumps your job!" she growled. Mr. Clark threw his hands up over his head. "All right, I'll call them!" he conceded. He stormed outside, muttering under his breath, "You're in big trouble for this, Andrew Charles Clark; if I lose my job for this, there's really going to be hell to pay!" Mrs. Clark, in the meantime, strode into the kitchen and started leafing through the phone book. "He said her mother works at Hirsch's, I think...right here," she nodded, finding the relevant number. She picked up the phone and started dialing it. "Yes, Hirsch's Department Store, I'd like to speak to Kelly Reynolds, please; this is important," she said out loud. After a pause, she continued, "Hello, are you Kelly Reynolds? This is Corinne Clark...yes, Allison's boyfriend. Listen, did Allison tell you she'd be spending the week at the Standish estate outside town? Well, it appears that's not the case at all; we just saw Andy on TV, and he's up at Lake Olafsson in Wisconsin instead of at the Standish estate like he told us too, so..."

She continued the conversation as Julian slipped into a closet, pulling another phone off the living room table in with him. He rapidly dialed a familiar number, but only got long rings on the other end. "Figures he's not answering when he really needs to!" he mumbled softly to himself. "Andy, it's Julian; the jig's up!" he hissed once prompted to leave a message, "Mom and Dad just saw you on TV-how could you be that dumb!? They're bound to be driving up there real soon, so...!"

"Honey, what are you doing in there!?" his mother demanded from outside.

"Uh...just calling Kevin to see if he's seen Andy; he's vacationing at Lake Olafsson this week," Julian said quickly.

"Well take your burger and notebook; we're going to have to go for a ride," she told him. Julian hung up and rushed out of the closet, grabbing hold of both his lunch and book. "Johnson...Johnson...I think this is the one; I saw him walking around in that neighborhood the other week. Hold this; don't lose this page," Mrs. Clark shoved the phone book into his hands as well, then grabbed her car keys off a hook in the kitchen and rushed out the door. "Clarence, come on, we're heading to the Standish estate," she called to her husband, who was in a heated debate with his co-workers on his cell phone.

"They're steamed, Corinne, completely steamed that I have to back out of this! I'm going to tan his hide good...!" Mr. Clark continued ranting.

"They'll understand, Clarence; half of them have kids of their own, you know! Now get in the car!" his wife ordered him, taking the phone book back from Julian and staring at the number she wanted. Nodding, she climbed into her car's driver's seat and dialed the number. "Hello, is this the Johnson house? Who is this? Oh, hello there, Mary. I'm Mrs. Clark, I'm the mother of one of your brother's friends. Listen, are either of your parents there? Could you put her on, please; there's something important I have to tell her..."

* * *

"...and that's the story, Kevin, sad but true," Andrew grimly finished his tale to his brother's friend as they walked together along a pathway by the lakeshore.

"Hmm. That is a problem," Kevin mused softly with a frown, "To be unable to do what you liked best because of the worst mistake of your life..."

"And I'm not really good at anything else, so where do I go from here!?" Andrew shook his head. "Now since I've told you this, tell me you've got an answer for me?" he pleaded to the younger boy.

"Not a definite answer," Kevin shook his head, "But maybe a path forward. Obviously what we have to do above everything is try and banish the ghost of Larry Lester so he won't bother you anymore. You did apologize to him, right?"

"To his face, and I meant every word of it. But obviously now it's not going to be enough," Andrew winced with pain, "He's going to haunt me at every step, making me share the pain I gave him. I can't wrestle if I see everyone as him." He sighed sadly. "And I thought I was going to be happy if I couldn't wrestle anymore, since that would mean Dad couldn't bother me. But I'm not happy..."

"Yeah, and that is the problem. So, there's a couple possibilities. If you have apologized, and it's still not going to make the specter of Larry Lester go away, then you have to go the extra mile to get him out of your mind," Kevin suggested, "Next time you step into the ring..."

"On the mat, Kevin; we don't wrestle in rings like you see on TV in high school," Andrew pointed out to him.

"Oh, sorry. Well, think of the best memory you have the next time you're face to face with an opponent. Maybe that'll get rid of him for a little while," the younger boy proposed, "What's the happiest memory you got? The first time you kissed your girlfriend, maybe?"

"Yeah, probably," Andrew smiled at this much happier memory.

"Think of that, perhaps. And if nothing else, remember what the pigeon lady told me when I was lost in New York: a good deed erases a bad deed. And the chance for a good deed will always come up."

"Well, Kevin, I don't think I'm going to get many chances to stop other people from trying to seal up a person's rear end," the older boy said, unable to suppress a chuckle.

"Probably not," Kevin couldn't stop himself from letting out a laugh of his own, "But I think any attempt to stop someone bullying someone else probably would count. Stop someone from having to go through essentially what Larry did, and maybe that'll do the job. As for your future, don't worry about that. This other friend of mine-he wasn't on the trip to Las Vegas with me and Julian, so you wouldn't know him-he had an older sister who was the same way. She never really joined any clubs or anything, never really stood out in school, and he listened in on her crying in her room a few times, crying that she didn't know how she could fit in to the world. Then she went off to college, and you know what happened?"

"What?"

"The girl she shared a room with her first year talked her into taking theater courses with her. Now his sister's in New York on Broadway-no major roles yet, but she's getting there. She never saw that coming, but she liked it a lot, and she's made a good life out of it. So my point is, things can come along when you least expect it. So don't worry about your future seeming empty. If you're not going to wrestle professionally, something else'll pop up, even if you have no idea it's coming."

"Well, I do appreciate it, Kevin; I'll try and keep that in mind," Andrew smiled at him, "You're pretty wise beyond your years for a ten year old, you know."

"I guess being left behind twice and then getting on the wrong plane for my class trip during the last three Christmases forced me to grow up inside quicker than I would have otherwise," Kevin admitted, "But I feel like a better and smarter person now. And I'm glad to help you in any way I can; Julian's always been one of my best friends, and I..."

"Andy!" came Allison's relieved cry from up the path. His girlfriend tore around the bend and jumped into his arms. "Thank God you're all right!" she breathed in relief, kissing him, "I had the worst possible scenarios playing out in my head...!"

"I just needed a walk, Allison; I wasn't going to do anything dire," he assured her, "And thanks to Kevin here," he gestured at the younger boy, "I do feel a little better."

"Who...oh, Kevin," Allison recognized him, "Are you vacationing up here?"

"Hold on, you know him?" Andrew frowned.

"Yep; Allison and I are regulars on the biggest Walley film message board on the web," Kevin told him, "She mentioned last year when we got into a strong discussion on the good and bad parts of both Sweetheart, I Sent the Kids into the Future and Abra Cadabra that she lived in town, so I've..."

"You never mentioned you were a fan of Walley films...?" Andrew turned to his girlfriend with puzzled expression.

"Well, yeah. Is something wrong with that?"

"Oh, no, no, it's just...I wouldn't have thought you'd be a major Walley fan..."

"Hey, you're never too old to like Walley films, especially the animated ones. And in the tougher times we live in today, the magic of Walley can be a big help emotionally," Allison said. "And I saw from the photos you posted that someone was lucky enough to be able to attend the premiere of Jorinde and Joringal with Roy Walley himself back in December," she bent down to Kevin's level.

"That was a great time," Kevin smiled at the memory, "And we got to go out to the park in June; that was a lifelong dream come true. You ever been there?"

"No, we've never had the money for it. But I'd like to some day. Anyway, I'm glad we found you, Andy; we've been looking all over for you," Allison turned back to her boyfriend with a frown, "Claire still didn't come back, and Melissa..." her face scrunched up with agony, "She walked out; I just feel so guilty for everything I said to her...I thought I was defending you..."

"How about Bender?" Andrew asked, looking concerned.

"Nope. He probably left already," Allison shook her head sadly, "I wish he'd been smart enough to stay..."

"So do I. Do they have any leads on the girls?"

"Not yet, but we're all looking for them."

"Anything I can do?" Kevin asked.

"Well," she bent back down to his level, "If you're out and about, keep an eye out for two girls. One has short red hair and was wearing a white blouse, blue thigh-length skirt, brown belt, and brown boots. The other has long, curly blonde hair and was wearing, last time I saw her, a sleeveless purple blouse, ankle-length floral skirt, and brown sandals. If you see them at all, call this number," she hastily scribbled one down on a spare piece of paper and handed it to him.

"I will," Kevin nodded, "Good luck."

"Right. Well, I guess we'll get going then, Kevin; better go look for them ourselves. And thank you," Andrew commended him with a smile, "It was good talking with you, Kevin."

"Glad to help, Andy," Kevin gave him a thumbs-up, "Feel free to drop in our cabin at any time; it's number 992."

"I'll remember that. Bye," Andrew waved goodbye. Kevin rocked on his heels, watching his friend's brother and his girlfriend leave. "And why do I just have the feeling," he said out loud, as if following Ferris's lead and communicating with an imaginary audience, "That I will cross paths with them again soon...?"

* * *

"Is...Senor...Standish...in...el...Manor!?" Mr. Clark frustratedly enunciated through the gates of the Standishes' country estate to the groundskeeper. The man shook his head and started a long diatribe in Spanish. "I told you I can't understand Spanish!" Mr. Clark bellowed.

"We get the basic idea from him, Dad; Mr. Standish isn't in," Julian spoke up calmly from behind him.

"OK, OK," taking a deep breath, Mr. Clark turned back towards the groundskeeper. "Senor Standish's...phono numberio?" he asked as calmly as he could, making his son break into laughter. The groundskeeper shook his head and muttered something under his breath in Spanish. "Are you mocking me, pal!?" Mr. Clark yelled at him, slapping the bars hard, "I don't like you treating me like a joke!"

"Clarence, you're not helping the situation!" his wife shouted at him.

"Well what am I supposed to do, Corinne!?" he threw up his hands in disgust, "Talking to this guy's like talking to a brick wall!"

There came a honking behind them. A gray station wagon was pulling up next to their car. A blonde-haired woman with a pony tail, who was wearing a blue Hirsch's Department Store shirt, climbed out. "You the Clarks?" she asked them, bustling over.

"Yes, I'm Corinne Clark; you must be Kelly Reynolds. Good to finally meet you," Mrs. Clark shook her hand, "My Andrew's fallen pretty deeply in love with your daughter over the last few months. Sorry we have to meet like this, though. Just you?"

"I called my ex; he won't step away from his desk job at the downtown bus station," Mrs. Reynolds rolled her eyes in disgust, "He wouldn't commit to me at all during the time we were married, but he commits to his new job like there's no tomorrow. So, they're not in there?" she glanced at the estate's gates.

"I guess so; lord knows what the heck this guy's saying!" Mr. Clark pointed contemptuously at the groundskeeper, who started another rant at him in his native tongue.

"Actually, I can help there; when I took my job at Hirsch's, we took training in Spanish. Let me try," Mrs. Reynolds stepped towards the gate and started conversing with the groundskeeper in his language. The sound of two more horns blaring prompted the Clarks to turn around again. Two additional cars were coming up the road, one a good distance in front of the other. "Must be the Johnsons," Mrs. Clark mused, stepping towards the first car as it pulled to a stop next to hers. "So you're Mercedes Johnson?" she greeted the woman stepping out of it.

"I am," the newcomer shook her hand, looking grave, "So Brian didn't come here?"

"Ground him for it, ground him for it good!" her daughter muttered coldly from the rear seat.

"Watch your tongue, young lady!" her mother snapped at her, having heard her. Turning back to Mrs. Clark, she said, with a worried expression, "So you think he went up to Wisconsin instead? Why?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Clark shook her head, "Maybe some last hurrah thing before college...I don't know. I wish we'd been told exactly where they were going."

"So do I, but I guess this was coming," Mrs. Johnson shook her head in resignation, "For all the years we've kept Brian bottled up in his life, he was probably going to rebel at some point...Ralph, good, you made it," she greeted her husband as he climbed out of the second car, which had parked to their right.

"Bob Russell agreed to cover for me till this was settled. Mr. Shirley'll still be upset, but I don't think it'll cost me my job. And after what almost happened after the Simmons competition," Mr. Johnson scrunched up with discomfort at this painful memory, "I know we're definitely doing the right thing leaving work to check this out. So what's the story here?"

"The story is," Mrs. Reynolds rushed over, "The groundskeeper says no one's been in the estate all week. So they probably went straight up to Wisconsin from the beginning. He also gave me Mr. and Mrs. Standish's phone numbers," she held up another sheet of paper.

"OK, good, see if you can get through to them," Mrs. Clark started rifling through her purse for her car keys, "In the meantime, then, we should all head on up to Lake Olafsson and see if we can find them there."

"But I don't want to go to Wisconsin!" Mary whined, having listened in, "I want to go swimming like you promised...!"

"Honey, I know, but none of your friends were in when I called around, so there's nowhere else I can drop you off at!" her mother told her, exasperated, "As long as there's nothing wrong with your brother up at Lake Olafsson, you can swim there, I promise. Come on, we're taking your father's car up."

"I can't wait for him to go to college...!" Mary muttered under her breath, nonetheless complying with her mother's orders and climbing out of the car. The parents all bustled for their vehicles. Mrs. Johnson came to a stop at the front passenger door of her husband's car, gave a sharp nod, and dug out her cell phone. "Winters Hardware?" she asked after dialing it, "Is this Mr. Winters? Good to talk with you; I'm Brian's mother...yeeeeeeeeeeeees, that's the thing, did Melissa tell you exactly where she was going this week? She's not there; they went up to Lake Olafsson in Wisconsin...I didn't believe it at first myself, but the parents of one of his friends say they saw their son on the news up there, so probably they all went up with him. We're heading up to the lake now; could you get off work and come with us...how long? Well, don't rush it; whenever you can close up and let your wife know. We'll see you along the way somewhere. Well, I don't think we need to worry too much right now; it does look like they're in no danger..."

* * *

"What's the timeline, Gaylord!?" O'Donoghue demanded to his explosives expert, who was rushing up the mine tunnel towards him.

"We're about two thirds of the way there now, Hank. Probably another hour and an half and we'll have it all in place under the stage," Gaylord said, pointing to the rest of O'Donoghue's command carrying explosives crates down the tunnel, "And this will be an act of patriotism they'll remember for years to come; looking at what we've got to work with here, the blast should leave a crater the size of Rhode Island."

"Good, good," O'Donoghue rubbed his hands in delight, "Just got the words from Earl, the Speaker came through; he just spotted about thirty Secret Service agents going into the woods towards home base. The rest of the boys'll have a little surprise waiting for them when they get there. Then we can surround the stage and make sure Simmons and the V.P. don't get off it before the blast. OK, I'm going to go help them take care of that; you just keep setting up here. And make sure all the wires and fuses are set properly, I want no chance of these explosives not going off at zero hour."

"I'm having them double check each charge we set, Hank; there will be a massive explosion when the time comes," Gaylord assured him.

"Great. OK, keep up the good work; I've got more blood to go spill now..."

* * *

"This was supposed to be a simple mission of justice," a mud-caked Rooney stumbled through the woods, glowering in disgust, "Instead, it turns into the same comedy of errors that I ended up going through on his big day off! Right now, he's laughing at me somewhere, and I'm powerless to do anything about it...!"

"Ed!?" came Vernon's shout from up the trail. Rooney looked up to see his cohort staggering towards him, sopping wet. "Hello, Richard," he greeted him casually.

"Hello, Ed," Vernon greeted him just as casually, "Really aren't having much fun with this, are we?"

"It could be worse."

"Don't say that, Ed; it always does get worse immediately whenever when people say it can't. But this was worth something for me: I took him out," a sadistic smile crossed Vernon's face, "John Bender is no more."

"You sure!?"

"I saw him by the marina and forced him into the woods at gunpoint. He put up a fight, and we both went into the river and got knocked out. When I woke up, there was no sign of him, so he must have drowned."

"And even if he didn't, he's miles from help by now, so he's as good as dead anyway," Rooney snickered. "Great job, Richard," he high-fived his former superior, "That's one down for sure. Now for Ferris."

"Ed, I did what I set out to do on this mission; can't we just go home now?" Vernon complained.

"Not until I get Ferris!" Rooney barked, "He must pay in blood for ruining my career! And think, Richard; the rest of John's little detention buddies cost you your job too, remember!? Don't they deserve to pay!?"

"Ed, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I...!"

"Wait, quiet, look," Rooney shushed him and pointed straight ahead. In the distance, two figures could be seen walking through the woods. "I do believe that's the lovely Miss Standish up there," Rooney grinned darkly, pointing at the figure that had a clear shock of red hair, "And what did she tell you in the hospital, Richard? That you were an embarrassment to Shermer High? Are you really going to let that insubordination pass?"

"Well..."

"Richard, after John Bender, she ruined your career more than anyone," the former principal told him with a dark frown.

"Yeah...yeah, she did," darkness spread on Vernon's face as well, "I wanted to throw her out after she mouthed off like that, but the school board warned me I'd be fired on the spot if I tried it during their first hearing."

"So let's do something about it, Richard. There's no school board here to hold us back."

"Yeah," Vernon started walking in Claire's direction, "Time for proper discipline to be meted out to those who deserve it..."

* * *

"No, haven't seen either of them," the marina's harbor master shook his head at Ferris and Jeremy.

"Well, thanks anyway," Ferris sighed. "Where could they be?" he asided to Jeremy with a worried expression, "Do you suppose I'm wrong and they did leave the lake entirely?"

"I hope not," Jeremy shook his head, "I have to tell Claire I'm sorry for..."

He suddenly looked up and frowned. "Wait a minute, that's the Speaker," he pointed. Ferris turned to see Begelman disappearing into the woods in the distance, briefcases in hand. "What's he doing going in there?" Jeremy mused, "Tell you what, Ferris, I'm going to go check this out; I've got a funny feeling something's going on here. Keep me informed on what you find, if anything."

He bustled after his boss. Ferris exhaled and turned to the lake, glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. "Come on, Claire, Andy, Melissa, where did you go...!?" he mused out loud to himself.

"Ferris," came Cameron's voice behind him. Ferris turned to see his best friend rushing down the road, Brian in tow. "Just got the word, Allison found Andy; he's all right," Cameron told him, gasping for breath, "He was just out for a walk to try and clear his head; nothing to worry about. Anything with...?"

"No," Ferris shook his head, "And now I'm starting to..."

"Bender...!" Brian suddenly gasped. His companions spun around. Sure enough, the criminal was stumbling across the marina towards them, sopping wet and with a bloody forehead, but otherwise seemingly all right. "John, you didn't leave," Ferris exclaimed, hustling towards him, "I'm glad you..."

"Shut up, Bueller!" Bender shouted, nervousness on his face, "Listen to me: Dick's here!"

"What!?" Brian frowned, "You mean, Mr. Vernon's...are you sure...?"

"Johnson, you think I would mistake Dick for anyone else after we've spent practically every Saturday together the last couple of years!?" Bender bellowed at the brain, "The man's gone crazy; he pulled a gun on me and tried to kill me! And you'll love this, Bueller; he said Eddie's up here with him."

"Huh!?" Ferris's expression crashed in fear, "But...but...Mr. Rooney's in maximum security after he tried to kill me...he couldn't be...!"

"He just might be, Ferris!" Cameron had gone pale, "Where's Mr. Vernon now!?" he asked Bender.

"I don't know; we fell in the river and got knocked out. I must have floated downstream from him by the time I came to. So he could be anywhere now. So Bueller," Bender leaned right in Ferris's face with a worried expression of his own, "Where's Claire...!?"


	15. Woods of Horrors

"I've had some trouble with bullies since I was in elementary school. They didn't target me mercilessly, but I was picked on often enough that it affected me," Melissa confessed somberly to Claire, seated with her atop a rocky ledge deep in the woods, "I took everyone's advice and ignored them as best I could, telling myself they were simply jealous of how well I did. But I think that led to anger building up in me, that it created a part of me that wanted to fight back and was just looking for a reason, any reason, to fight, I guess. And ever since I met Brian and started going out with him and coming out of my shell more, I'd vowed to myself that I wasn't going to be bullied anymore." She sighed sadly. "Something in Allison's tirade must have set something off in me; I don't even know what did it, but...I look at myself now, and I'm just horrified at how angry I got. I called her a punk who could expect nothing more than a life on welfare. To think I could be capable of saying something so smug and elitist...am I really no better than those girls who bullied me...!?"

She sniffed in grief and shame. "And it hurts that it had to be Allison that I hurt," she continued to the redhead, "Out of the four of you, I think I like her the best. I like her generally quiet and easygoing nature; it's basically somewhat close to my own. I never got to tell her that-and now I never might. How can you walk anything back after you shove a person and tell her she's hopeless!?" She buried her face in her hands, "My whole life, I've been so lonely; I didn't realize or admit it for so many years, but now I know how alone I was. But every time I try and change it, I do something stupid like that and end up even more lonely. Why can't I just get out of my own way...god, I don't want to be alone!" she started sobbing.

"Melissa, Melissa," Claire pulled her into a hug, "I can tell Allison liked you a lot as a friend too. She can forgive you, and she will. And you're not alone. As long as any of us have a say, you'll never be alone again."

"What about Brian!? I saw the horror in his face that I could be so cruel. If I've lost him, after I blew his illusion that I'm a sweet and innocent girl...after everything he's done for me, losing him would be the end of...!"

"Melissa, you won't lose him, I promise," Claire assured her, fighting to keep from crying herself, "You've made him come out of his shell and become a stronger person, and he'll always be grateful to you for that. He loves you more than anything on this planet or any other planet, and nothing you'd ever do would change that, trust me. And you are still the sweet and innocent girl he loves. The real Melissa Winters is the one that gave Brian her first place trophy after the Simmons competition to cheer him up, the one who had a lamp built for him so he wouldn't have the failed shop course hanging over him anymore. That's who you really are."

"No I'm not; I'm a cruel animal who takes her friends for granted...!"

"Melissa, please just listen to me," Claire pulled the blonde's hands away from her face and stared right into her eyes, "You're human, same as the rest of us, which means you make mistakes, same as the rest of us. All of us say things we don't mean at one point or another in our lives. And it's clear to me you didn't mean a word you said last night. Just tell Allison what you've told me, and she'll forgive you, and Brian'll forgive you, I promise. This was just the one incident; other than that, you are one of the sweetest girls I've ever met, and Allison would say the same thing. We all would. Now do you trust me on this!?"

"I...I guess so," Melissa nodded softly, wiping at her eyes, "I...I've always been afraid of anger and confrontation. I don't want to fight; I've run away from anger, and hurt and pain as often as I could. When something like this happens, it feels more awful than it probably is."

"Well, unfortunately, we can't escape pain and anger and hurt no matter how hard we try," Claire sighed herself, "And I know that better than anyone. Half this trip has been hurt and pain for me..."

She slumped her head in her hands. "I'm sorry Jeremy had to do that to you," it was Melissa's turn to offer her comfort, "But you're better than him, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Claire nodded softly, "He just...he felt like he was different, like he really cared. But of course, as I found out in detention, what you see on the surface isn't everything." She stared blankly ahead into the woods. "I guess Bender took my advice and went back to Shermer, given you said you haven't seen him since I yelled at him to get lost. When we get back, maybe I'll see what's left of our relationship, if there's even anything left to salvage at this point."

"So you're going to give him another chance?" Melissa asked.

"I don't know, Melissa. I just don't know. Do I want to risk jumping back on the roller coaster, knowing the next valley could break me emotionally for good, even if the highs turn out to be better than ever? Have I ridden the roller coaster with him long enough already? I just don't know," Claire shook her head grimly, "I just wish I could have some easy answers for once in my life..."

She turned to the blonde again. "If you want the honest truth, there've been times this summer that I've been so jealous of you myself," she confessed to Melissa, "Seeing you and Brian just nail your relationship and be so happy with each other, while I yo-yoed back and forth with Bender depending on his mood-there were times I felt angry to be in your presence. Not to mention the fact you're pretty, smart, caring..."

"Insecure, hard on myself, unable to control my emotions at the wrong time..." Melissa lamented.

"But your good side more than outweighs your bad by a mile, believe me on that. I think a lot of girls would feel jealous standing in your shadow, and I was one of them a lot these last few months."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"One, for Brian. He deserves a happy ending so much, and you clearly make him so happy. Plus, every time I got angry at you, I was able to knock sense back into myself, realizing that you weren't a bad person and I had no real reason to be upset with you. And that's the truth; you are a good person at heart, Melissa Winters, no matter what you think of yourself at times. And besides, you are my friend. And I don't want to lose friends either," Claire took Melissa's hand, "I value everyone that really..."

Suddenly a sharp barrage of gunfire rang out in the woods behind them, making both girls jump and gasp in shock. "What was that!?" Melissa stared hesitantly towards the sound.

"I don't know, but I don't like it. Let's check it out," Claire rose to her feet.

"I don't know, Claire; those sounded like pretty high-caliber guns. Something dangerous might be going on..." Melissa was hesitant.

"Then we'll be able to spread the alarm if we know about it. Come on," Claire waved to the blonde to follow her. Melissa reluctantly rose up and followed the redhead deeper into the woods, where the sound of men shouting could be heard. They dropped to their knees and crawled to the top of a rise behind which the voices-and a steady stream of additional gunshots-could be heard. They reached the top, looked over the side-and gasped in horror at the sight of close to thirty Secret Service agents lying on the ground, covered in blood. Several men in fatigues strode among the bodies, shooting into those that moved even in the slightest. "Think they're all dead now, Captain," the biggest one announced once they had finished to the bearded and bespectacled man watching from the side with a contented smile.

"Wonderful, wonderful," O'Donoghue rubbed his hands in delight, "OK, dump the bodies down in the mine; we'll either burn them or blow it shut when we're done so nobody'll ever know what happened to them."

"What's going on here!? Who are these men!?" an appalled Melissa whispered to Claire.

"I don't know, but I don't like it," Claire whispered back, "Something's not right here. They're...wait a minute, it's the Speaker!" she gasped softly, seeing Begelman entering the woods, briefcases in hand, "What's he doing out here!?"

"Whoa, whoa, just me again, guys!" Begelman shouted at the sentries that took aim at him again. He grimly surveyed the massacre scene. "So you did your job thoroughly, O'Donoghue," he gravely commended the militant leader, "Here's the Secret Service uniforms you asked for," he handed O'Donoghue the briefcases, "Just remember what I told you last night..."

"Don't worry, don't worry, I haven't forgotten," O'Donoghue assured him, "Just make sure I'm paid in gold and not worthless paper..."

"All right, hold your water; I called the Secretary of the Treasury last night and told him to transfer a hundred grand in gold for you out of Fort Knox. Told him it was presidential orders; by the time he realizes it was..."

"Mr. Speaker, what are you doing out here!?" came a familiar voice from behind him. "Jeremy...!" Claire gasped to see him stumbling into the clearing, staring in shock at his superior, "Jeremy, don't, get out of here, these men are dangerous...!"

"So you still care for him, even though...?" Melissa inquired softly.

"I don't know, but he shouldn't be here...!"

"O'Connor, you don't belong out here!" Begelman shouted at him, "Go back to the cabin and...!"

"What the hell...!?" a horrified Jeremy took in the field of dead Secret Service agents, "Who are these people, Mr. Speaker!?" he demanded furiously to his boss, "What business have you with them!?"

"You told me no one knew you were coming out here, Begelman!" O'Donoghue shouted at the Speaker.

"I didn't know he followed me! I said get out of here, O'Connor!" Begelman ordered Jeremy.

"No, tell me what's going on!" Jeremy remained defiant, "Are you selling out to the wrong people!?"

"You'll never know anything, kid," O'Donoghue calmly raised his M1 level with Jeremy's face and fired seven times in succession without flinching. "OH MY GOD...!" an utterly horrified Claire spun around and covered her eyes, sobbing. She started retching violently. "No, don't throw up, they'll hear you!" Melissa begged her.

But Claire did in fact throw up loudly and violently. Before she or Melissa could recover, there came the cocking of guns, and rough hands grabbed them around the midsection and dragged them down into the basin below. "Couple of spies, Captain," one of the men announced to O'Donoghue.

"Well, what have we here; two pretty ladies who couldn't resist looking in on what wasn't their business," the militant leader glared both girls down, "But of course, I'll wager you're not going to say a word after I persuade you a bit."

"Who are you!?" Claire demanded, staring him in the face so she would not have to look at Jeremy's lifeless body on the ground.

"The cleansers of the overgrown brush, for lack of a better phrase. All right, let's see exactly how much you ladies saw..." O'Donoghue grabbed Melissa by the arm. She quickly bit his hand, making him howl, and broke away and started running as fast as she could. "Run, Melissa, run!" Claire begged her, wincing as her own captor tightened his grip on her arm when she tried to break loose herself. Muttering angrily, however, O'Donoghue raced after Melissa and rapidly caught up with her, grabbing her roughly by the throat from behind. "Oh, you want play rough with me, you little wench!" he bellowed at her, choking her viciously, "I'll show you exactly what rough is!"

He hurled her violently to the ground behind a small hill out of Claire's sightline, then grabbed a large rock laying nearby, raised it high in the air over Melissa, and smashed it down hard. "NO! LEAVE HER ALONE!" a horrified Claire screamed, struggling unsuccessfully to break away from the man holding her. O'Donoghue paid her no heed, angrily slamming the rock down over and over again, each blow landing with a sickening thud. Finally, after ten blows, he threw the now crimson-stained rock away, only to cock his rifle and calmly fire three shots in succession towards where Melissa lay. "One down, one to go," he declared out loud without the slightest shred of remorse, "So you'd better talk if you don't want the same," he approached Claire, aiming the gun right at her.

"You animal!" Claire shrieked at him, tears streaming down her face, "She was an honor student; she had a major scholarship to a major university! She had just sold her rocket designs to NASA...!"

"Honor student!? Then she's better off dead, as that means she was nothing more than another hopelessly brainwashed drone of the Jews' indoctrinating curriculum, forced into American schools to make everyone who listens to it a mindless slave to their tyrannical foreign rule!" O'Donoghue ranted angrily, "The only good mindless drone is a dead mindless drone! And you're going to be dead too if I don't get some answers!" he pointed the gun right in her face.

"Wait, leave her to us," came a familiar voice from atop the hill. Claire spun, and almost fell over in shock. "Mr. Vernon!? Mr. Rooney!?" she gasped to see the two former educators glaring towards her, "What...What are you two doing here...!?"

"She's one of the kids that we wanted," Rooney told O'Donoghue, striding down the slope towards him, "Let us take care of her, and you can go about your business."

T-T-Take care of me!? What are you talking about, Mr. Rooney...!?"

"All right, but make sure she can't say a word to anyone till we're done with the mission," O'Donoghue ordered him, nodding to Claire's captor, who tossed her roughly into Rooney's arms, "All right, get into the suits, men, and get ready to get into position! Dump the kid's body down the mine too; better to erase..."

The rest of his orders were lost to Claire as Rooney twisted her arms roughly behind her back and hauled her back up the slope towards Vernon. "Ow, ow, you're hurting me!" she protested.

"Good, because you have a good hard lesson to learn, Miss Standish," Vernon glared her down coldly, "And fortunately, the fact you and the other girl stopped for so long back there allowed us to circle back around and pick up items we can use well to teach you that lesson," he hefted the cane from his old man disguise from the other day and slowly walked towards her.

"Please don't kill me, Mr. Vernon, please don't kill me...!" she begged in terror.

"Maybe we won't. In a way, I'm glad it's you we came across here, Miss Standish. Whatever we do to someone as wealthy as you, whether it kills you or not, that'll send a good hard message to the rest of them that they're not safe no matter where they run and hide to," he snarled.

"Why...why are you doing this...!?"

"You and the rest of your little circle of new friends ruined my career! What was that you told me in the hospital again, Miss Standish!? That you wanted me to go to hell, and that I was an embarrassment and a failure!? Well you do not call Richard Vernon anything like that and get away with it! This time, the detention you're going to experience is going to be a lot more painful that anything you've felt before, because I've got nothing left to lose otherwise."

"HEL-!" Claire started to scream for aid. Rooney clamped a hand over her mouth and locked one leg around her legs to keep her from kicking him. "You're getting exactly what you deserve for insulting me and throwing your lot in with the likes of John Bender, Miss Standish," Vernon roared, raising the cane ominously over his head, "And this time, daddy's money isn't going to help you at all...!"

* * *

"Andy, thank god," Ferris breathed in relief, waving at the wrestler, who was coming around the corner of the lake's biggest restaurant with Allison and Sloane. He rushed up to him. "Glad to see you're all right."

"Just went for a walk, Ferris. Have they found...Bender," Andrew noticed the criminal, "So you didn't leave...what happened to your head...?"

"Dick's here, Clark; he tried to kill me, and I think he wants to kill all of us!" Bender shouted at him, "Where's Claire!?"

"We...we don't know; we've been looking for her and Melissa too," Allison looked worried now, "You're sure it was Mr. Vernon...?"

"You think I would forget what the man looks like, Reynolds!? Call the Secret Service and have them drag him in A.S.A.P.!"

"Where did you last see him, John?" Ferris asked with a taut expression.

"When we tumbled into the river when tried to shoot me; he could be anywhere now!"

"I see," Ferris nodded grimly. "Suffice to say, ladies and gentlemen, that these are kind of villains you hate to have to face in these kinds of stories," he glanced solemnly over his shoulder, "The ones who can pop up anywhere at any time, with..."

"Will you stop that!?" frustrated, Bender grabbed him by the collar, "What the hell are you doing that for!? Tell me right now, Bueller: WHO...ARE...YOU...TALKING...TO!?"

"Well, John," Ferris took a deep breath, "You may not believe this, but..."

"Wait a minute, you guys hear that?" Sloane suddenly held up her hand. The sound of barking could be heard from the woods. Seconds later, a yellow Labrador tore out of the trees, its leash flailing behind it. "Wait a minute, that's the fat guy's dog," Bender frowned, releasing his grip on Ferris, "What's he doing letting it run loose like this...?"

"Keema...!" Brian pushed past the criminal, his eyes widening in recognition of the dog. He dropped to his knees and gestured the Labrador towards him. "Keema, what are you doing here!?" he asked the dog worriedly, "Are you and Stamp...Stanpo...whatever his name was...!?"

"You know this dog, Brian?" Sloane frowned.

"Of course I do, Sloane, I met him back in...oh, it's not important now. What's the matter, Keema? Are Melissa and Claire in trouble!?" Brian asked the dog, looking pale. Keema whimpered and lowered his head. "Oh no...oh no...!" the brain gasped fearfully, "Keema, if you know where they are, take us to them!" he ordered the Labrador, "Hurry, go, take us to them!"

Keema turned and ran back towards the woods, still barking. "Hurry, guys, this is bad, this is really bad!" Brian shouted at the others, barreling after the dog as fast as he could.

"Who the hell is Keema!?" Cameron protested, huffing to keep up with him.

"And how do you know the fat guy, Johnson!?" Bender demanded.

"I'll explain later!" Brian shouted over his shoulder. He charged at full speed after the rapidly running Keema, quickly putting a bit of distance between himself and the others. The dog loped deep into the woods, eventually coming to a stop atop a large hill. Brian rushed up beside him, huffing heavily...

...and lurched to a sudden and abrupt stop on top of the hill, his face going deathly white. "Oh God no...!" he gasped, collapsing to his knees in a flash, "Oh God no...!"

"What happened to...CLAIRE!" Andrew cried in horror, rushing towards the figure on the ground. Sobbing, Claire lay on her side by the bushes-and it was clear to everyone coming over the rise that she had been horrifically beaten. "Claire, what happened!?" he dove for her side, "Who did this to you!?"

Claire fought to move her lips: "Mr...Vernon...did...it!" she whimpered, gritting her teeth against the pain. Her gaze turned behind Andrew to the crowd, widening to see Bender there. "Where...were...you...!?" she moaned towards him. His face flush with stunned horror, Bender's lip started quivering. He slowly started to open his mouth to respond...

...but anything he might have said was cut off by a scream of carnal anguish. Brian was now hysterically crawling on his knees towards the small hill to the left, where Melissa lay ominously face down in a pool of blood, completely motionless. "PLEASE, NO, MELISSA, NO!" he screamed in agony, shaking her desperately, "PLEASE DON'T BE...SAY SOMETHING, ANYTHING, MELISSA, PLEASE! PLEASE, GOD, SAY SOMETHING TO ME!"

But his girlfriend said nothing, and did not move in the slightest from his shaking. "OH MY GOD NO!" Brian shrieked at the top of his lungs. He looked around desperately for Keema and frantically waved the dog over to him. "Keema, go find him!" he desperately pleaded, "He could save her; please, get him, wherever he is! Hurry, please, find him!"

Keema rushed off deeper into the woods. "WHERE WERE YOU!?" Brian screamed in agony to the sky, "WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP THIS!? PLEASE, HELP HER...!"

He pulled Melissa's lifeless body into his chest and wept hysterically. "Get Claire to her feet; we've got to get them help!" he shouted to the others, rising to his feet, "It may not be too late...!"

"Come on, we've got you," Andrew told Claire as calmly as he could manage, waving for Cameron to help him lift her up. Claire howled in pain as she went upright, gritting her teeth again to keep from screaming in anguish. There was, however, a scream of rage and pain from Bender, who turned and ran back over the hill with his hands over his face when everyone turned in his direction. "Oh, sure, Bender, run again when the going gets tough!" the wrestler shouted after him.

"He's hurting, Andy; it hurts him to see her like this, like it hurts me to...!" her own lip quivering hard, Allison approached Brian and stared with tearful eyes at Melissa in his arms. "I didn't mean anything I said, Melissa," she whimpered, "Even after just these few months, you were one of the best friends I ever had. And now...I guess can never tell you how...I'm so sorry; I never wanted this...!"

She wailed in grief, buried her face on Brian's shoulder, and started crying uncontrollably. Brian sympathetically rubbed her on the back. "Help with Claire," he advised Allison, gesturing her towards the redhead, "You can do more for her."

Still sobbing, Allison ran over to Claire, who was trying, with visible extreme pain, to take hesitant steps in Andrew's and Cameron's arms. "There's some men here...they did that to Melissa...they're doing something bad!" she struggled to say through the pain, "Mr. Vernon and Mr. Rooney know them..."

"What, what are they doing!?" Cameron grilled her, concerned.

"They didn't say, but it's bad. They killed a whole bunch of...!"

"Shhh!" Ferris suddenly raised his hand, "I thought heard something..."

He glanced nervously around the woods. "Where did Mr. Vernon and Mr. Rooney go after they did this to you!?" he asked Claire, his eyes still scanning the trees and bushes.

"They walked off, looking for the rest of you. I think they wanted to use me as bait for..."

The sound of twigs cracking loudly on the hill above them made her stop. It was then that Ferris caught sight of something flashing in the bushes there. "GUN!" he screamed, hitting the ground seconds before a shot rang out, the bullet zipping right past where his face would have been. "Good afternoon, students!" came Rooney's excessively happy shout from the bushes, "On behalf of Mr. Vernon and myself, welcome to our new and improved form of detention-the version where none of you leave alive!"

A barrage of machine gun fire burst out, sending the teens to their knees. "Scatter!" Ferris shouted to them, "And stay low!"

He took off like a shot deeper into the woods to the left, everyone racing desperately after him. After a few feet, however, a loud cry behind him made Brian stop and turn around. "Wait, Claire can't make it!" he cried out, noticing her fall to her knees with a howl of pain behind him, clearly unable to walk on her own. The others, perhaps unable to hear him over the roar of gunfire, kept going. Brian quickly dropped to his knees as another blast of bullets screamed towards him, crawled rapidly backwards through the lead maelstrom towards the grimacing Claire, took her in his free arm, and scrambled with her and Melissa in the opposite direction everyone else was going. "Let Johnson go for now; he can't get far with them slowing him down!" Rooney's voice rang out behind him, "We'll catch up to him real quick afterwards; right now, kill Ferris!"

* * *

"This is worse than I ever thought he'd end up!" a terrified Ferris whimpered, ducking another barrage of machine gun fire as he and the others ran as fast as they could through the woods.

"This is actually worse than I heard he got in Washington!?" Andrew asked, breathing heavily in fear and exhaustion.

"At least twice as bad!" Sloane confirmed for him, "All we did in the spring was take a day off; how do you go from that to...?"

"GRENADE!" Cameron screamed, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside from the flying projectile, which exploded when it hit the ground where she'd been standing. "Where the hell are we, Ferris, and how do we get out of here!?" he demanded to his best friend.

"I...I...I don't know, Cameron..." Ferris numbly admitted.

"You're Ferris Bueller; you know how to get out of any scrape!" Allison shouted at him, "Pull yourself together and get us out of here, for Claire's and Melissa's sakes!"

"Um...uh...um...uh...cave, cave, over there!" Ferris pointed at one that had come into view on the left around the next bend, "Hurry and get inside and stay quiet; we'll hide until they're gone!"

The five of them raced for the cave, ran as far back into the darkness as they could, and dropped to the ground. The former educators' footsteps came to a stop outside. "Where'd they go now?" Vernon could be heard shouting, "They were right here a minute ago!?"

"I know; they can't have gone far...especially...especially with their footprints in the mud..." Rooney said triumphantly.

"Uh oh...!" Ferris whimpered softly, realizing they'd given away their hiding place just like that. Seconds later, a pair of low thuds rang out, and two round objects rolled across the cave floor towards them. "Oh God...back!" he screamed at the others, scrambling frantically away from the oncoming grenades. Seconds later, both exploded with tremendous force-so powerful, indeed, that, outside, Vernon and Rooney had to take brief shelter behind a large pine. When the boom and subsequent clattering had died down, they looked back around the see the explosion had completely caved in the front of the cave, the entrance now blocked by a large mass of huge rocks. Rooney broke into laughter. "Mission accomplished, Richard!" he told the former superintendent, high fiving him, "Even if that didn't kill them, there's no way they get out of there now. Either they suffered instant death, or they'll face slow, painful death by starvation or asphyxiation. Good thing we did circle back to those guys' cabin and helped ourselves to their surplus."

"Mission accomplished," Vernon breathed a sigh of relief, "And it feels good to get the last laugh on those jackasses. All right, let's catch up with Johnson and..."

"What the hell are you two doing!?" O'Donoghue was storming up to them with a scowl, "This mission depends on secrecy, and I hear you two shooting off thousands of rounds of bullets and setting off grenades all over the place around here!"

"We got almost everyone we wanted to get, so don't worry, we're done," Rooney assured him. "Mission accomplished, Begelman; I hear you wanted Ferris and the others rubbed out, and they are," he gave the numb looking Speaker, who was standing behind O'Donoghue, a thumbs-up.

"Oh, good, good," Begelman nodded softly. "Um, O'Donoghue, not to complain, but O'Connor was one of my best aides; you didn't have to kill him too," he complained to the militia leader.

"He would have squealed for sure, I could see it in his eyes. Let him rot in an unmarked grave. All right, Mr. President, time for you to head on out of here, if you want plausible deniability," O'Donoghue leaned towards the Speaker, "And when you get back to Washington, after you comfort the grieving nation, here's what you're going to do: first, announce the Israelis did it and launch every nuke you can at Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. It's time they get a taste of their own medicine. Second, we immediately go back on the gold standard, thus taking us off admiralty law and back to common law, making Americans truly free again. Third, in correlation with that, you immediately abolish the Jews' tool of oppression, the Federal Reserve, and arrest every single director thereof and put them on trial for treason, with a guaranteed death penalty afterwards. Fourth, the head of every branch of the government, plus all the liberal collaborators on the Supreme Court and the damn globalists who want our borders wide open to dilute the American race, also get arrested and put to death. Fifth, the borders slam immediately shut and stay permanently shut, and everyone who isn't a WASP gets thrown right out. Sixth..."

"All right, all right, don't get greedy!" Begelman shouted, holding up his hand, "Just," he began, looking a bit regretful, "Just don't kill anyone you don't have to going forward, O'Donoghue, that's all I ask."

"We'll kill whoever we feel needs to die for a better America, Mr. President. Now get going," the militia leader demanded. Nodding softly, Begelman trudged away. "All right, you two get back to home base," O'Donoghue ordered Vernon and Rooney.

"There's still one more kid we have to catch...!" Vernon protested.

"Too late now; you can hunt him down after the blast, when there'll be mass confusion. Now back!" O'Donoghue barked. Sighing, the two former educators left. O'Donoghue pulled out and activated his radio. "What's the status, Gaylord?" he demanded to his explosives expert.

"We just placed the last one, Hank; we're double checking them all now," Gaylord responded.

"Good. Once you've got all the Is dotted and the Ts crossed, run the detonator wire back to home base and set up for the blast there," O'Donoghue signed off and switched to a different frequency. "All right, Moose," he commanded his top aide, "Cut the phone and internet lines to the lake now."

* * *

"Andy and I talked for about twenty minutes, Julian, and I think he felt better," Kevin said into his cell phone to Andrew's brother as he walked along the path leading near the Grand Whitecap Lodge, being careful to stay outside the Secret Service perimeter, "Where are you now?"

"We just stopped for a break at the first I-94 rest area inside Wisconsin," Julian told him, "So if you see Andy again, tell him he's probably got a little over an hour to find a hiding place before we get there and Dad kills him."

"Not that you'll probably complain, if you'll be getting all his...hold on," Kevin frowned, hearing the breaking of glass from the unprotected employees' parking lot to his right. He glanced in that direction and could make out Bender pounding his fist through the front passenger window of one of the cars with an agonized cry. "Just saw one of his friends in bad shape, Julian; I'd better...Julian? You there?" he frowned, as the phone had unexpectedly cut out. Indeed, a quick glance at the screen showed that there was no longer any cell phone reception. "That's strange," he mused, then shrugged, "Probably a quick outage..."

He bustled over to Bender, who was smashing another car's windshield with a large tree branch, letting out a roar of pain and rage, and shoving aside the Secret Service agents trying to pull him away. "Hey, everything all right there?" Kevin called up at the older boy.

"No!" Bender bellowed, kicking the side of the car until a sizeable dent had formed, "He brutalized her! I'm going to hunt him down and kill him with my bare hands!"

"Calm down, son; you need help," one of the agents advised him, trying to pull him back.

"I don't want your help! I want Dick to feel what he put her through!" Bender yelled, wiping at his eyes, "He has to pay for this...!"

"Help! Somebody, we need help!" came a desperate cry from the woods. Kevin spun with the rest of the agents and gasped-as did they-at the sight of Brian staggering out of the woods with the heavily bleeding Claire and Melissa in his arms. "Officers, please, they need help!" he cried at the Secret Service men, collapsing to his knees in exhaustion.

"Call for an ambulance!" one of the agents shouted to his colleagues. He rushed over to the girls and started feeling Melissa's hand for a pulse. "Very weak heart rate here; make that ambulance A.S.A.P.!" he called back to the other agents.

"Hurry; I don't know how much longer she can hold on!" Brian sobbed, dropping his girlfriend and Claire gently on the ground. "Bender," he called to his friend, "The others are in trouble, I just know it! Find them, quick, before...!"

"Just tell me where Dick is! I'm going to break his neck for this!" Bender raged, pointing at the badly beaten Claire.

"John, help the others; forget Mr. Vernon for now!" Claire whimpered, "They were being chased by him and Mr. Rooney...!"

"Which way!?" Kevin rushed forward, deeply concerned.

"That way," she pointed back into the woods.

"Thanks," Kevin took off running. "Hey, where do you think you're going, you little sunspot!?" Bender protested, "This isn't your business...!"

"If people are in trouble, it's everyone's business, even mine. Now are you coming too!?" Kevin shouted back, taking off into a sprint. Bender sighed and took off after him, leaving Brian to slump face-first to the ground, whimpering, "I failed her...I failed them all...!"


	16. The Heavy Afternoon Snack Club

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In addition to the returning Bill Stanpovalichki and the cameoing Gus Polinski, the original character you're about to meet was also written with John Candy in mind to play him. Continuing on...

* * *

"Come on, come on, what's the story here!?" a frustrated Natalie demanded out loud, pounding her index finger down on the relevant icon to try and reconnect to the internet on her laptop in the hotel's lobby. Nothing happened, however, except for a box that kept popping up with the words NO SIGNAL inside. "Terrific!" she muttered, shutting the computer down and slamming it shut.

"Everything OK, honey?" her mother came bustling over from elevators, having seen her frustration.

"The connection just went out, Mom, and I can't get it back up again," Natalie confessed, "I was just starting to set up the page Dad had requested too..."

"Well, it's probably a glitch; you know how technology always fails to work," the First Lady shrugged, sitting down next to her.

"Did you find what you were looking for earlier?" her daughter asked her.

"I...I think so. I'll check it out more closely later on after your father gives his speech, but I won't need your computer for that..."

The door to the conference room burst open. "Just the people I wanted to see," President Simmons bustled over to his wife and daughter with a wide smile, "We have the framework for the Middle Eastern alliance officially set up. Emir Zaid and Secretary Hoffman made the calls around, and we have enough countries tentatively locked in to give it a try. Now I can wind down my time in office with a major accomplishment."

"That's wonderful," the First Lady kissed him, "You worked hard for this, Matthew."

"Yeah, we did, Nance. Thing is, though, I tried to call Press Secretary Hendra to get the word out to the news services, but the phone lines here all seem to be out," the president frowned.

"It's not just the phones, Dad; I lost online service too," Natalie told him, "What do you think the story is?"

"Not sure, sweetheart, but I'm sure it'll clear up. Well, we've got a speech to give soon, to tell the world about this big breakthrough, and to announce that we're going home after the next election. Ready to face the nation, Doug?" he put his arms around the approaching vice president.

"Uh...what happens if I am?" Kenney frowned with a confused expression.

"Don't worry, Doug, I'll walk you through it. Just promise you won't try for my post after I leave...Bruce, perfect timing," Simmons noticed Begelman rushing in the door, a worried expression on his face, "We're ready for the press conference..."

"Sorry, Matt, can't make it, have to go. Just got a call from, uh, Representative Kreismann, he said Representative Subitzky's threatening an, um, immediate shutdown unless his guys get more military funding and, uh, more tax cuts," Begelman rambled nervously, "So, um, I have to head on out and get, uh, back to Washington to head this off."

"Can't you at least stay for the speech, Bruce...?"

"Afraid not, Mr. President; this is turning into a Grade A emergency, and they need me back in Washington A.S.A.P...good, bring my luggage," the Speaker waved wildly at the bellboys wheeling his suitcases towards him, "I called for a helicopter; it should be landing out back in about ten minutes. Load all this on when it's here. Sorry, gotta go, Matt, good luck," he rapidly flashed the president a thumbs-up, then raced back out the front door. "He's sure acting strange," Mrs. Simmons frowned.

"Guess he's concerned about trying to save face and look like a go-getter after he got roundly defeated here this week," her husband shrugged, "Strange, though, I thought Representative Subitzky promised he wasn't going to try and force any more shutdowns..."

"Politicians, Dad; they all say one thing and do another...apart from you of course," Natalie added quickly. "Say, Dad, did you see Cameron and the others come back in at all before the meeting?" she asked him with a puzzled expression, "I haven't seen them since they went out in the morning to look for the ones who left, and they don't seem to have come back since..."

"Well, no, I didn't. But I guess they're just out enjoying the lake. Maybe we'll see them by the stage when we make the speech. And with that in mind, why don't we go out there and make it...?"

* * *

"What the hell is this!?" Mr. Clark protested, seeing a solid wall of stopped cars ahead of his wife's car on the interstate. "Hey, Officer, what's the story here!?" he called to a state trooper standing nearby alongside his cruiser on the shoulder as Mrs. Clark braked to a stop behind the blockage.

"Multi-car pileup about five miles up the road after two trucks jackknifed and crashed," the trooper hustled over and explained to him, "Road's completely blocked for now."

"When is it going to be cleared!? We have to get to Lake Olafsson!"

"Not for at least another three hours. We've got thirty cars wrecked on the road up there, and they only just started clearing up the wreckage," the trooper shook his head, "If you don't want to wait in traffic, I'd advise you pull over to the shoulder and get off Exit 275 a mile down the road. There's a restaurant and gas stations right off the exit; you can probably wait there under we give the all-clear."

"Three damn hours!? How are we supposed to...!?"

"Clarence, language!" his wife snapped at him, gesturing at Julian in the back seat. "Well, thank you, Officer, we'll take your advice," she thanked the man, then leaned backwards out the driver's side window to shout to Mrs. Reynolds and the Johnsons, who had stopped behind her, "Major accident up ahead; we're pulling off the next exit." She backed the car up a few feet, then pulled to the right and followed the stream of traffic driving on the shoulder, trying to get off at the upcoming exit as well. "I probably could eat again; lunch didn't really fill me up that good," Julian spoke up.

"Well, let's see what they've got off the exit, honey...Aker's of Food," Mrs. Clark squinted at the restaurant listed on the FOOD-NEXT EXIT sign they were passing, "Guess that sounds good enough; we can have a good meal and then probably wait there a while until they give the word the road's cleared up."

"Looks like that's the place there," Mr. Clark pointed to the large sign declaring AKER'S OF FOOD being held up by a large red cartoon turkey in a chef's uniform that was visible towering over the highway just off the exit. Mrs. Clark swerved down the ramp, turned left, and eased into the restaurant's parking lot. "Good, it's a buffet," her husband rubbed his hands in delight, taking note of a smaller sign under the main one denoting that the restaurant offered a buffet, "If we're going to be stuck here, I want it to be all we can eat."

"Just so they have a great dessert bar," Julian stared optimistically at the restaurant.

"Well you have to eat a full meal before you have dessert," his mother advised him sternly, climbing out of the car. "Oh, look, they have a playground too," she said to her son, pointing at the fenced-in playground next to the restaurant proper, "Maybe you and the Johnsons' daughter could play there together after we finish eating?"

"I'm starving; don't just stand around out here!" Mary complained out loud, climbing out of the back of her father's car, which had parked on the Clarks' left, "You made me miss lunch by dragging me up here...!"

"All right, all right, we'll get something to eat, Mary, so stop whining!" her mother shouted, climbing out herself. "Nonstop the whole way up!" she muttered softly in Mrs. Clark's ear, "I love her dearly, but I appreciate Brian so much for being a quiet and respectful boy more than ever now."

"So what's the story; did he actually say it was going to take three hours to clear the road?" Mrs. Reynolds climbed out of her own car on the Clarks' right.

"Afraid so," Mr. Clark shrugged in disgust, "At least we're no more than thirty miles away now from Lake Olafsson now. Well, shall we?"

He led everyone inside the Aker's of Food building. "Tacky, tacky," he mumbled softly at the décor, which made the restaurant look like the interior of a circus tent. "Anyone here!?" he called out loud to the seemingly empty dining area, "We'd like some service..."

The kitchen door swung open. "Afternoon, folks," a large rotund man wearing a red and white striped suit that made him look like a member of a barbershop quartet ran up, "Glad you could stop in. Welcome to Aker's of Food; I'm your host Frank Aker, and I'm proud to welcome you to the greatest culinary experience you'll find in the entire state of Wisconsin. Where are you all from?"

"Shermer, Illinois, just outside Chicago. And if I may ask," Mr. Johnson squinted at the man, "are you from there?"

"Nope, born and raised in Beloit. Why?"

"Nothing, except...you happen to look exactly like almost half the guys who live in town anymore."

"Well, I've never been there, but I'll take your word for it. Anyway, party of seven?"

"I believe so."

"Follow me to your seats, and we'll get you started," Aker led them towards the largest table in the center of the dining room, "What can I start you off with to drink?"

"What beer you got?" Mr. Clark asked him.

"Sorry, no alcoholic beverages here. I prefer to run a clean ship," Aker told him with a shake of the head.

"All right. Make it a root beer then."

"Diet Coke, lemonade for Julian," Mrs. Clark told him, pointing at her son.

"Decaffeinated coffee, no sugar," Mrs. Reynolds ordered.

"Black coffee, extra sugar," Mr. Johnson told Aker.

"Pepsi, and the same for my daughter," Mrs. Johnson gestured at Mary.

"OK, that we can do," Aker wrote down the orders, "I'll bring those out for you; in the meantime, help yourselves to all the food you want," he pointed to the multiple food stations throughout the dining area.

"Food, food...!" Mary eagerly ran for the pizza counter. Shaking their heads, her parents joined Mrs. Reynolds at the salad bar. "Try your daughter's number on the drive up?" Mrs. Johnson asked her.

"Three times, but no response. Then again, Allison often doesn't answer when I call. We don't exactly have the warmest of relationships," Mrs. Reynolds admitted, piling croutons on top of her salad.

"Sorry to hear that. How about the Standishes, since you said you got their numbers off the groundskeepers?" Mr. Johnson inquired.

"Tried them both; they're not picking up either. But knowing them, that's probably no surprise," Mrs. Reynolds moved on over to the poultry counter, where the Clarks had congregated as well, and carved off a big slice of chicken. "You know, I knew Vanessa Vickerella in high school," she admitted to everyone else, "She was two years older than me, and we weren't really friends, but I did see her around a lot. The irony is, our roles were reversed from how our daughters have it: I was the popular one from the wealthy family, and Vanessa was the one from the wrong side of the tracks. To think we'd end up where we are now, I never would have believed it back then."

"I always wondered what Louis Standish ever saw in her, given she came from so much lower a social class than he'd probably have aimed for," Mr. Johnson mused, piling cheese cubes on his plate.

"I'm pretty sure I know what he saw," Mrs. Reynolds said with a grimace, "As I've heard it, Louis only wanted a one night stand with Vanessa, but a few weeks later, she showed up at his doorstep and told him in no uncertain terms she was pregnant. He married her real quick after that to save his good name from scandal. So there never was any love there to begin with. I think Vanessa stuck it out as long as she did with Louis for her daughter's sake, and because, after coming from where she did, she didn't want to give up the upper class lifestyle she'd waited her whole life for. But a loveless marriage makes all that money seem empty and useless. So it's no surprise she became a drunk; it's probably the only way she can dull the pain of a life that went way off the tracks from what she'd hoped it would be."

Her cell phone rang at this point. "Hello?" she said into it, shifting her plate into her other hand and following the rest of her party back to their table. A deep frown spread on her face. "Oh sure, Nick, NOW you want to come up after I gave you what for earlier...and you really expect me to believe that, after everything else you've claimed over the years!?...it's different with me, I...Nick, I don't want to fight with you right now, I'm just not in the mood. If you really are serious about coming, she's at Lake Olafsson, but you're on your own now, Nick. Prove yourself worthy of being Allison's father and show me there's still something resembling hope in you. If not, I guess we've got nothing more to say right now. Goodbye, Nick."

She hung up as she sat down at the table. "Claims the boss told him to go up; more likely he had a guilt trip and wanted to make himself look good the next time he has custody," she mumbled in disgust to the other parents, "He ignores Allison half the time he has her anyway, so not that it makes much difference."

"Well forgive me if this is out of line, but Andy told me that Allison had told him she felt ignored by you too," Mrs. Clark fixed her with a firm gaze, "So it may not be just your ex-husband's fault if your daughter's ended up a, what did he say? Oh yes, basket case."

"Well," Mrs. Reynolds took a deep breath, "Not long ago, I would probably have ripped you a new one for suggesting that. But on the drive up, I did some thinking, and I realized, I let Allison's entire high school career go by and hardly noticed. Including forgetting her last birthday. What kind of mother would make that mistake?" she shook her head grimly.

"Well, since you asked, Brenda Baker admitted last month at the Fourth of July fireworks that she and her husband forgot her middle daughter's birthday when it came right before the older one got married," Mrs. Clark pointed out, "Still," she frowned deeply at her son's girlfriend's mother, "How could you be so careless as to let that much distance come between you and your child?"

"I don't rightly know...I guess I got depressed after Nick and I divorced. We'd fallen out of love well before we officially split, but it still hurt to know he wasn't the man I'd thought he was after we met in college. I wanted to dull the pain of the marriage's failure, and it looks like I haven't stopped trying to dull it. Everyone wants to get off work early; I keep telling my superiors I want to work as late as possible. If I'm working, I don't have to go home, don't have to face the fact that..." Mrs. Reynolds sighed sadly, "...face the fact that this wasn't what I envisioned my life was going to be when I was Allison's age, that I would be stuck in a bad neighborhood on my own with no way to advance back to where I'd been financially in my younger days. The marriage to Nick was supposed to last, not collapse after twelve years because he was...and I was...cheating. Maybe," she shook her head, "Maybe I've been so obsessed with trying to push reality away that I ended up pushing my daughter away with it. When I am home, we rarely speak; there's nothing we would have to say to each other anyway. But I'm rarely home; after work, I usually go out with friends, or to bars, anything to avoid going home. I can't blame her for feeling ignored...I ignored lots of things for so long."

"Brian mentioned that she told him she'd gone to that detention because she had nothing better to do that Saturday," Mrs. Johnson spoke up, "Things are bad when a kid willingly goes there out of boredom."

"I know. Part of me wants to make it with her right somehow, but I'm worried that it's too late, that I've already lost her for good. And what would I say to try and make it up to her anyway, when we have nothing to say to each other in the first place? I don't know how to bridge the gap I've made between us..."

She sighed again. "Speaking of that detention, she did tell me during one of the rare times we have talked about how she was glad to have met your son, and everyone else there," she turned back to Mrs. Johnson, "And how bad an image he had of himself then, how he felt he needed to be the very best in the class for you to care for him. She said he'd painted a picture of you as a, if you'll pardon the expression, educational Nazi."

"Well, unfortunately, guilty as charged, I've come to see," Mrs. Johnson shook her head, guilt spreading across her face, "And now I have to live with the grim knowledge that Ralph and I only realized we'd messed up that bad after almost losing..."

Her cell phone rang at this moment. "Yes? Oh, uh, right now we're at a place called Aker's of Food off Exit 275. Westbound traffic's blocked past that exit, so Highway Patrol directed us to wait here until it cleared. Where are you now? Good, that's only about twenty miles away. Just turn left off the ramp; you can't miss it. I called the parents of Brian's girlfriend before we left Shermer; they should be here soon," she explained to the other parents, "You know, in a way it's funny; our kids all met for the first time when they had to spend several hours together in detention, and now, waiting for the road to clear, we're technically all in the same situation as they were..."

"Drinks all around," Aker had reappeared, handing everyone their drinks off a tray, "Free bread too," he set two baskets full of it down as well. "And all kids under twelve receive a free stuffed Redfeather the turkey doll, complements of management," he gave two dolls of the restaurant's mascot to Julian and Mary.

"Oh lovely," Mary muttered, callously tossing the turkey aside, "Where's the bathroom in here?"

"Down that way, to your right," Aker pointed. "Enjoying it so far?" he asked the parents as Mary left to take care of business.

"This actually isn't bad, buddy," Mr. Clark commended him, taking a large bite out of a ham slice. "Say, you get the Cubs games on the big TV there?" he pointed to the wide screen set hanging on the back wall, "I'd hoped to watch the one they had in Cincy this afternoon if this had been a normal day."

"Not sure, usually we get the Brewers up here instead. I'll check for you," Aker bustled towards the TV. "So, you were saying, you were a classroom Nazi?" Mr. Clark turned back to Mrs. Johnson with interest.

"I never meant to become what I did, and neither did Ralph. With me, you have to understand..." Mrs. Johnson took a deep breath, "I was the fifth of nine children in my family. So I was heavily ignored by my parents a lot as a young child. And that left me sad a lot of the time. I wanted to find a way to stand out, to get them to love me the most. The critical moment was the last day of school in third grade; as I walked out to the bus, I saw the smartest boy in his class being hugged by his mother for a straight A report card. I could see how happy he was, and how proud she was. And I decided, that was how I would stand out: I was going to finish first in my class. My parents would have to love me the most for that, I thought. For the next nine years, I drove myself mercilessly to get to that level. And in the end, it worked; I finished as class valedictorian. But looking back, I paid too high a price for the honor," she sighed sadly, "I lost my best friend halfway through ninth grade when I blew off her birthday for SAT studying even though she'd pleaded with me to come. We haven't spoken since then. And she wasn't the only friend I lost along the way; I can count two others off the top of my head who excoriated me for being cold and shallow before they walked away from me for good. And that's not counting a brother and a sister I haven't spoken with in ages either. But for years, I shrugged it off, telling myself they were just jealous of me, and it was their faults. Being the best in the classroom was all that mattered to me. As it did to Ralph, except for a different reason..." she turned to her husband.

"My father was an esteemed University of Chicago mathematics professor," Mr. Johnson began with a nervous breath, "And a cold, abusive brute who accepted nothing short of one hundred percent on each and every report card. Whenever I didn't get that," he started shivering in fear, "Some of the beatings he gave me, I can still feel today. Since he was a math professor, he really went off on me when I didn't match his ideals in those particular classes. Even once when I got a ninety-two percent on one math test, he beat me for five whole minutes, screaming things at me I can't say out loud," he cast an eye towards Julian, who was listening in to his story with a wide-eyed expression, "And my mother did nothing to stop him; she just stood around and enabled him to be a monster. I was so scared of not succeeding because of him, both in the classroom and in life. And I guess that's what attracted me to Mercedes, other than the fact she was as pretty then as she is now," he squeezed his wife close, "That we were both two driven souls out to prove ourselves. To help win Shermer's last title to date in the M.K. Simmons competition together in our senior year, that was one of the happiest moments of our lives. But I guess we wanted to stay on that high, that we were bent on having our kids follow the same path..."

He lowered his head in regret. "I wanted my children to be as bright as we were, to keep what we'd accomplished going," Mrs. Johnson jumped back in, "Whether consciously or not, I decided that I was going to mold them into the brightest kids Chicago had ever seen. I was essentially the academic version of that guy who tried and failed to make his kid the best quarterback in the world-what was his name, Marijuanavich?"

"Marinovich," Mr. Clark corrected her.

"Right. Looking back, I...I smothered Brian too much," Mrs. Johnson hung her head in shame, "For so long, he never smiled, and now I know why: because I was hanging over him, pushing him too hard to reach the levels I'd gone to. And did I neglect Mary too much in doing so?" she cast a regretful gaze in the direction of the restrooms, "If I made her as cranky and rebellious as she is some times by passing her over for her brother because he wanted to learn and she didn't...I guess that's something else I'll have to try and make right. I was just so blind to Brian's feelings; when he failed in shop, and then got in detention for bringing the gun to school, I tore into him like there was no tomorrow; both Ralph and I said things we shouldn't have then. Why did we only see the bad grade and the breaking of school rules!? Why didn't we look closer and see that we'd pushed him to the edge, that we almost...I don't know how I could have lived with myself if it...if I..." she started sniffing, "Why didn't I see what I did to him, that I...that I almost killed my own child!"

She slumped down on the table and started crying hard. Fighting tears himself, her husband put a sympathetic arm around her. "It hurts me too to realize what I became now," he confessed to the other parents, "I wasn't as hard as Mercedes was, but I pushed Brian too hard too. I was too afraid of my father's wrath, even after he died when Brian was ten. And then, there was this year's Simmons competition," his own head sank down, "At first I was upset Shermer lost like that, but when he ran out after the match, I had my first feelings of regret. Then, this homeless guy showed up. We only saw him for the five minutes or so we spoke with him, but he forced Mercedes and I to look deep inside and realize that, in running from our own demons, we'd forced Brian to face them too. We drove all over the city looking for him, and then...I had a feeling when we saw the ambulance pulling over to the curb that it was him they were coming for, and when I saw your son talking with the medics, after I'd seen him leaving that detention with my son before," he told the Clarks, "I knew it was Brian they were there for. And when I saw them carrying him down the fire escape, frozen solid and unconscious...it ripped my soul in two. Sitting there in the ambulance with him on the way to the hospital," he started breaking up, "Holding his hand and feeling nothing, nothing at all...if any of the paramedics would have had a gun with them, I would have grabbed it and blown my brains out in grief then and there, because I knew at that very moment exactly how much I'd failed as a father, letting the son I love come to that. Mercedes and I, we never told him and his sister how much we loved them. We were too distant given how we'd been brought up...we were too stupid as parents..."

He broke down as hard as his wife. "Everything OK, folks?" a concerned Aker sauntered back over.

"Yeah, uh, we're fine, just facing some dark memories," Mr. Johnson said quickly, wiping at his eyes.

"Oh, OK. Well, sorry to disappoint you, pal, but all I've got is Brewers-Phillies," Aker told Mr. Clark, pointing at the screen.

"Well, guess that'll do," Mr. Clark turned around in his seat to watch the game.

"So, now that everyone else has said their peace, Clarence," his wife gave him a harsh gaze, "How about you? Anything you'd like to share with the group?"

"What is this, Corinne, truth or dare?" he frowned at her, "I've got nothing to say here; I don't feel..."

"LARRY...LESTER," she enunciated coldly.

"That wasn't my fault, Corinne! I wasn't the one who...!"

"I couldn't help hearing you telling Andy after he lost at the meet the week before to prove he was a man to you, Dad," Julian gave him a firm look of his own, "And didn't you point out Lester in the stands and call him a dweeb who deserved to be taken down a peg or two while you were talking to him, or something like that?"

"Hey, what did I say about listening in to what's not your business, young man...!?"

"And Julian has a good point, Clarence. Andy may have done the actual deed with Larry, but your hands were behind it the whole way," Mrs. Clark glared him down, "Anything to be the macho man, right? That's what it's been since I first met you."

"Corinne, would you just...all right, you all want the whole story, here's the whole story!" Mr. Clark took a deep breath, "But you didn't hear it from me. When I was a kid, I was...I was a scrawny nobody who got picked on all the time. My father was a weak office clerk who let his bosses walk all over him; I felt ashamed to be his child. Finally, around junior high, I was tired of being beaten up and bullied. Wrestling was my outlet, my way to fight back. And by the time I was Andy's age, I had worked myself into such shape on the mat that they didn't bother me again. I was a true man, a strong man, a man I could be proud of."

"And let me guess, you tried to force your sons to feel the same way, no matter whether they wanted to or not?" Mr. Johnson raised a knowing eyebrow.

"Afraid so," Julian spoke up with a shake of his head, "I told Dad I wanted to be a writer, but he wouldn't listen for so long," he shot his father a disappointed look.

"Hey, I've been better with that since Christmas, haven't I, buddy?" looking worried now, Mr. Clark gave his youngest son a desperate look.

"Yeah, you have, Dad, and I'm grateful. But it still hurt while you were doing it," Julian admitted, "Just like it's hurting Andy. I've looked in on him in his room a couple of times when he was crying about what he thinks his lot in life is."

"I...I...I didn't want to...not to cry, he can't cry over..." Mr. Clark stammered desperately.

"Well, Clarence, he has. I've comforted him many times when you weren't there," his wife told him sternly.

"And Allison mentioned something else he'd said in that detention," Mrs. Reynolds spoke up, fixing Mr. Clark with a gaze of her own, "That he'd give anything to have his leg broken beyond repair so he wouldn't have to wrestle anymore, and you wouldn't bother him."

"He...he wouldn't...I didn't...did I...I, I'm going to need a moment..." fighting to hold it together, Mr. Clark rose up and dashed for the bathroom, pushing past Mary as she came back out. "What's his problem?" she frowned at him.

"He just realized he made some mistakes, honey, just like your father and I have," her mother told her, pulling her seat out for her.

"Looks like you folks have a lot of issues to work out," Aker pulled a chair over from another table and sat down with the group, "I couldn't help overhearing the whole conversation you've had from the kitchen. Is it really that bad with you and your kids?"

"Wish we could say otherwise, but yeah," Mrs. Reynolds nodded softly, "We all fell through the cracks one way or the other and made our children's lives miserable. For the most part, we didn't mean it, but...we still came up short in the end. Do you have kids?" she asked Aker.

"I had one. He moved out to California two years ago. I really miss him, especially since Josephine...it's been so hard without her," Aker turned sadly towards a photo of a lovely woman hanging on the wall above the dessert bar, "We built this business together, the two of us. Then came the..." he scrunched up in discomfort, "the cancer. Watching her waste away like that, it was harder than you can ever imagine. At least, running a restaurant, you can still be friendly with people. And I'm glad you folks did stop in here," he smiled at them, "We actually don't get many guests around here; people usually go past this exit without stopping. Every customer that comes in, I'm glad they do stop in."

"I guess that's the way it worked out, that we'd end up in a live action reenactment of John O'Hara's The Farmers' Hotel," Mrs. Johnson nodded, "Given that we're currently in the summer equivalent of being snowed in...although I hope it's not a literal reenactment; I don't want to be fatally rear-ended after we leave..."

Shivering, she turned to Mrs. Clark. "Seeing your husband's mindset, have you ever considered...?" she cast a hesitant glance at Julian.

"You done with that plate?" Mrs. Clark quickly asked her youngest son.

"Uh, guess so," Julian confessed, sliding the mostly empty plate away from himself.

"OK, go help yourself to the dessert bar."

"All right!" Julian leaped up and ran for the desserts. Once he was out of earshot, Mrs. Clark whispered to the others, "Yes, I have considered divorcing Clarence a number of times. He can be such a lout, as you've heard. But in the end, I didn't want to put the boys through that kind of trauma. And there's still the Clarence Clark I fell in love with when we both worked at Marshall Fields in there somewhere, and I keep hoping he'll come back out. I've given him more chances than I probably should, but I'd prefer to keep this family intact if humanly possible."

"Good for you," Aker commended her, "And how about you? Anything you want to get off your chest?"

"Actually, no. I'm the odd one out here; no major problems in my past," Mrs. Clark confessed, "Grew up in a happy and loving family in Northbrook, graduated with honors from college, good job with the state civil service, two great sons. I'm the only one here with nothing to complain about-at least not yet..."

"Here's hoping it stays that way. Feel better?" Aker asked the returning Mr. Clark.

"Kind of. Feel awful, though, seeing what I've become," Mr. Clark admitted, wiping at his still moist eyes, "I thought I was being a man all those years...was I really just a bully!? How do I make that right...!?"

"There are ways," Mr. Johnson told him sympathetically, "Mercedes and I have found over the last few months, there are ways..."

"Good, good, whatever they are, I want to know them. I have to make this right with Andy before he leaves," Mr. Clark sniffed.

"From what I can see, it looks like you've all unknowingly ended up perpetuating bad cycles that you were all put through when you were your kids' ages," Aker looked around at the entire group, "But you can break the cycle if you try; it only takes a little bit of effort to tell a kid that you love them."

"I'll keep that in mind, pal. Well, anyway, since we're going full tilt into the subject of painful pasts," Mr. Clark sat back down and took a deep breath, "We've gone over each of our kids, but I've heard John Bender was in that detention with them too. I knew his father in passing back in school. And I could just tell something was direly wrong there. Even among us kids, there were whispers going around that his mother was...that she was..." he checked to make sure Mary wasn't paying attention before silently mouthing at the other parents, " _Committing sexual crimes with him."_ They all shivered in terror. "Yeah. We never knew for sure, but that would explain a lot of how Art ended up the drunken and abusive louse whose name always ends up in the Shermer Sentinel's police log," Mr. Clark continued with a shake of his head, "It doesn't excuse him for what I hear he does to his son or what he did to his wife before she left him, but it does explain a lot, for him and his kid."

"It's scary what you can find under the surface sometimes," Mrs. Reynolds shuddered, "Shermer seems like a nice, quiet, happy everywhere town, but as we can see among ourselves," she gestured at the other parents, "There's so much hurt and pain lurking under the surface here. Who knows what else is going on in these nice suburban houses that we don't know about...?"

She shook her head. "Life's definitely not always what you see on the surface," she continued, "Look at Vanessa Vickerella; she has all the money in the world, but not a shred of happiness with Louis Standish. And on the other side of the coin, take Jack Walsh who lives up the street from me: no job, no wife, no cent to his name, but he's been a wonderful father to his daughter. We'd all be wiser people if we could just look beyond the superfluous and the obvious."

"Well fortunately, as Ralph and Mr. Aker here mentioned, it's not too late for us to change," Mrs. Johnson spoke up hopefully, "Maybe for Art Bender and the Standishes it is, but all of us can still make it right with our kids. After we almost lost Brian-twice-we vowed we'd do better. The last few months of high school, we stepped back and told him to enjoy himself. He finally started smiling again-partially because he met a wonderful girl, but also because I could tell he finally felt liberated. But best of all, on Mother's Day," she leaned back in her seat, her eyes watering again, "I wasn't expecting anything, considering what I'd put him through, but he went out and got me a large bouquet of flowers and a new bracelet, plus a card reading WORLD'S GREATEST MOM. And he told me, and I quote, 'I've always loved you so much, Mom, no matter what happened. I always have wanted to learn, but I would never have done as good in school without you, and I'll always be grateful to you for that.'" She started sniffing again, but this time happily. "To know that he forgives me unconditionally, and that I didn't break his soul even though I was too overbearing with him at times-that was a tremendous weight lifted off my heart. Somehow we did something right with him over the years, in spite of everything, that made him into such a wonderful son. I'm going to miss him so much when he's gone, even if he'll only be in Evanston..."

"We changed, even though it took a near tragedy to force it, and you all can too," Mr. Johnson told Mrs. Reynolds and the Clarks, "Don't wait until it is too late; don't let your kids drift away without telling them you love them. You never know when it may be too late..."

The sound of bells ringing at the door made everyone look up. "Ah, more customers," Aker jumped up and bustled to the short man and tall, bespectacled woman who had entered, "Afternoon, I'm Frank Aker, and welcome to Aker's of Food, the buffet for every day..."

"Um, we were looking for the Johnson family...?" the woman scanned the restaurant.

"Over here," Mrs. Johnson stood up and waved to them. "These are the Winterses; Brian's dating their daughter," she told the other parents, introducing the newcomers.

"Ted Winters; this is Carol," Mr. Winters introduced himself and his wife, shaking everyone's hands. "Good to finally meet you at last," he greeted the Johnsons, shaking both their hands at once, "Brian's doing a great job as my clerk this summer. And Melissa just can't stop talking about him; he's made such a positive difference in her life."

"So we can't understand why she wouldn't be honest with us about where she was going with him this week," Mrs. Winters frowned, "She almost never lies to us."

"It was probably that John Bender's fault; even good kids seem to get bad influence from him," Mr. Clark snorted, "I'd say...hey, don't overdo it, pal," he chided Julian, who had returned with an extra large bowl of Neapolitan ice cream covered with hot fudge, nuts, and sprinkles, and two plates loaded with brownies, carrot cake, cookies, and pudding among other delicacies.

"It all looked so good; I just had to try it all," Julian protested.

"You're not eating all that junk, Julian Clark!" his mother told him sternly.

"Well can't I take some of it with me, for later!?"

"Tell you what, show me what you want now, and I'll box the rest for you later," Aker proposed, taking hold of the plate, "After all, here at Aker's of Food, we love to have our eating experience last with our guests for a while."

"Well..." Julian squinted at the plate, unsure which to sacrifice for the moment. "We're glad you could come," Mrs. Clark turned back to the Winterses, "Although there's probably nothing to worry about; they're probably having the time of their lives at the lake right now."

* * *

"The package is on Santa's sleigh heading for the chimney, Gaylord; repeat: the package is on Santa's sleigh heading for the chimney!" O'Donoghue shouted to his explosives expert over the radio, "Is everything set down there!?"

"Just finished the last check, Hank; everything is set to go off," Gaylord turned to one of his men coming down the tunnel, who gave him two thumbs up, then handed him a large reel with the detonator wires wrapped around it.

"Excellent. All right, clear the mine and bring the cable back to the cabin; we'll blow the stage from there," O'Donoghue ordered.

"Got it; I'm on my way. OK, everyone out of the mine, this is it!" Gaylord shouted at the other militants, who ran for the exit shaft, "In no more than thirty minutes, we free America once and for all!"

"How about the bodies, Gaylord?" the last militant out pointed down another tunnel, where the corpses of the dead Secret Service agents lay stacked in a pile.

"Recoil from the blast should send flames down this way and incinerate them; if not, we blow the mine shut after we're done. Either way, nobody's going to find their remains," Gaylord started climbing up the rope out of the mine himself, the detonator wire unspooling steadily from the reel as he went up and out. Neither he nor the other militants noticed the figure of a giant bear look around the corner of one of the mine tunnels and glare up at the retreating humans. Once they had fully left, it lumbered up to the entrance shaft and stared up out it, the sunlight racing down glistening off its bare head and hindquarters. Then, with a growl, it started climbing up out the shaft itself. The humans, after all, had desecrated its lair, and had to pay in blood...


	17. Formulating a Rescue

"Can anyone hear us!?" Sloane shouted at loud as she could at the massive wall of rocks now covering the cave entrance. There was no response from the other side. "How's it coming!?" she held up her cell phone to shine its meager light on Andrew, who was straining to move the rocks.

"Not going to work, Sloane; they're packed in too tight on this end!" Andrew groaned, slumping to the ground in exhaustion. "Allison...!?" he turned to his girlfriend behind him.

"No signal at all, Andy!" Allison glared at her own cell phone, which also had a NO SIGNAL message on the screen, "We're completely on our own here!"

"Ferris, anything!?" Sloane turned to her own boyfriend, who was staring blankly ahead in a daze.

"Sorry, Sloane, I...I've got nothing," Ferris whimpered softly, his face taut, "I'm...I'm not cut out for this kind of situation..."

"Ferris, snap out of it!" Cameron grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard, "We're not going to be able to get out of this if you freeze!"

"I...can't help it, Cam, I...I can talk my way out of trouble most of the time, but when they go this far...I don't have what it takes. And did I push Mr. Rooney this far?" Ferris mumbled, sliding against the cave wall, "Did setting him up to take falls all the time turn him this dark...is this all my fault that we're going to...?"

"We're not going to die, Ferris, now pull yourself together!" Cameron barked, slapping him on the shoulder, "The Ferris Bueller I know would take command and find a way out of this! So show me it's that Ferris in front of me now!"

"Never mind that, are you the Cameron Frye I've known!?" a surprised Andrew put a hand to Cameron's head, "Why aren't you panicking and screaming that we're all going to die?"

"Fortunately, I'm not that Cameron Frye anymore, Andy; I've moved beyond that. And besides, after all those years imagining the worst case scenarios where I'd die horrifically, this actually isn't nearly as bad as I thought a possible slow and painful death might be," Cameron admitted, "But we're not giving up, Ferris," he turned back to his best friend with a worried expression, "Because we all heard what those guys who Mr. Vernon and Mr. Rooney are working with said out there; they're planning to do something terrible to put the Speaker in the White House. Natalie and her dad might be in danger even now, and I'm not going to let anything happen to them, and neither are you, right!?"

"Well..."

"Ferris..." Sloane kissed him passionately on the lips. Ferris shook his head hard. "Thanks, I needed that," he said, sounding much more confident now. "All right, if we can't move these rocks by hand, let's see if we can find a way around or under them," he took charge of the situation, "Everyone, look around for anything we might use to leverage them out..."

"Where are we going to find a lever in here, Ferris!?" Allison threw her hands up in disgust, "We'd have more luck scouring the cave to look for Fraggle holes to escape through!"

"OK, um, maybe if we dig under the rocks, we can roll them away..."

"Again, with what!?"

"We do have our hands, you know."

"That'll take hours!" Andrew protested, "And who knows if we have enough air in here for that to...!?"

"Quiet, listen!" Sloane shouted holding up her hand. The five of them listened hard, and could make out voices calling outside the cave. Very familiar voices, in fact. "Bender!" Andrew shouted, running to the blockage, "Bender, we're in here; can you hear us!?"

"We're in here!" Sloane shouted herself. And sure enough, footsteps could be heard running up to the blocked entrance. "We hear you; everyone all right in there!?" came a different voice.

"Kevin, help John move the rocks!" Allison cried to him, "We're stuck in here!"

"Give me a hand here, big guy!" Kevin had taken charge outside. The sound of rocks clattering away outside rang out. It slowly got louder and louder until a shaft of outside light finally burst through into the darkness of the cave, temporarily blinding the teens inside. "Leave you guys alone for five minutes, and I have to save all your backsides!" Bender half-joked, rolling two large rocks away at once, "Aren't you all glad you didn't chase me off now?"

"John, I'm glad you didn't go," Ferris extended a hand through the hole to shake Bender's hand. He joined the others inside in rolling the rocks away now that there was space to do so until the entrance was wide enough for them to crawl out to freedom. "Bender, thanks," Andrew shook his hand as well, "And Kev, thanks again," he did the same for Kevin.

"Glad to help. But what's going on up here?" Kevin frowned.

"Well, since you asked, it might be something really bad," Ferris shivered. He bent down and told the younger boy everything they'd seen and heard over the last hour. "Yikes," Kevin winced himself, "This is worse than anything I've been caught up in."

"Just tell me which way Dick went; I'm going to murder him for what he did to Claire!" Bender snarled, pounding his fists hard.

"Sounded like they went that way," Ferris pointed to the right, "But John, instead of stooping to what now appears to be Mr. Vernon's level, try and take a more refined approach to getting back at him. Consider..."

"I said don't touch me, Bueller!" Bender yelled at him when Ferris made the mistake of putting his hands on his shoulders.

"Sorry, sorry," Ferris quickly retracted them, "Consider being the suave, gentlemanly criminal in trying to enact justice with him. You'll thank yourself later."

"And how am I supposed to do that, Bueller!?"

"Well...I'll have to think about that..." Ferris stopped at the sound of a helicopter zooming overhead. "There goes the Speaker," he mused out loud, "That can only be him, fleeing back to the capital to prepare to assume the presidency he thinks he's going to have by the end of the night. He can't be allowed to get away with this, not for associating with those paramilitary guys, not for treating us young people as useless. Think, Bueller, think!" his face scrunched up, "There's got to be a way..."

"Wait, maybe we do have a way..." a grin crossed Andrew's face. "Kevin," he squatted down in front of his brother's friend, "Do you think you've got one more battle plan left in you?"

"Battle plan? What are you talking about, Andy?" Cameron frowned.

"It so happens, Cameron, that Kevin here is practically a human home security system," the wrestler rose back up, "The last three Christmases, he rigged up booby traps everywhere to stop crooks, including on the botched field trip my brother went on last Christmas."

"Which, I understand, helped keep Roy Walley Entertainment in the Walley family," Allison smiled at her young online friend.

"Well yeah, but, guys, this is different. I was up against complete idiots who'd easily fall for those things before; now you're asking me to take on fifty or sixty heavily armed anti-government guys. I think that's a bit out of my league!" Kevin protested, looking unsure, "I can't guarantee it would work, especially if they start shooting and setting off bombs! And where are we supposed to set it up at!? I don't...!"

"Hold on, hold on..." a major smile was crossing Ferris's face. "If we showed you the inside of the hotel we're staying at, and came up with an escape plan in case this wouldn't work, would you consider it?" he pressed Kevin.

"Well..." Kevin's brow furled, "I don't know. You're asking a lot with the odds we'll be facing; I really don't know if this can work..."

"Little guy, let me make this clear in three words," Bender bent down to Kevin's level with a firm expression: _"Make...it...work."_

Kevin gulped nervously. "Well...I'll think about it," he told the teens, "Show me what we'd have to work with at the hotel..."

* * *

The elevator door swung open on the fifth floor of the Claire County Memorial Hospital, but no one noticed Stanpovalichki and Keema stepping off it. The homeless man led his dog rapidly down the hall, a pained and regretful look on his face. "I hate it when those conferences upstairs go on too long, Keema," he confided miserably to his pet, "Otherwise maybe we could have..." he sighed sadly, "I just hope we can set this right. Let's see if we can find out what we'll be dealing with when we find them."

He glanced in the various rooms he passed, searching for something. Finally, he came to a stop outside one where a group of doctors were conversing around a series of X-rays on a lighted overhead rack. "...beating she took, it's really a miracle she's even still breathing," one of the doctors was saying, grimly amazed, "Nearly forty broken bones; whoever did this to her is an animal."

"Do they have any leads?" another doctor asked, worried.

"She said her former high school superintendent did it out of revenge for getting him fired; the boy who brought her in said the same even though he didn't see it. We tried to call Lake Olafsson, but all the phones there are out."

"How about her parents?"

"Father's in Las Vegas, mother's down in the Caribbean, but we haven't gotten through yet. Hope we do soon; she'll need a wheelchair for some time now with how bad her legs got shattered."

"And the Winters girl?" a third doctor spoke up.

"Much worse," the first doctor grimaced, holding up some more X-rays that looked brutal to Stanpovalichki even from a distance, "Major skull fracture, significant brain bleeding, and the bullets all severed her spine. Whoever fired the shots was a professional; he knew exactly how to cause maximum damage."

"Diagnosis?"

"Does it matter? Even if she regains consciousness, she'll be paralyzed for life, if not a complete vegetable. So, much as I hate to say it," the doctor wiped away tears of his own, "I think our only option is to call her family and get permission to pull the plug, for mercy."

"That bad?" a fourth doctor whistled, "We'd better make sure, though; call the boss and get his opinion before we call her family. If he says to pull it, though, I guess we go ahead and pull it."

"Guess so," the second doctor shook his head. He and his colleagues trudged out of the room with the X-rays in hand, presumably to take them to their superior and get his opinion on what to do. Sniffing hard in grief, Stanpovalichki slumped down on a nearby bench. Keema sympathetically licked his master's hand. "Sorry, Keema," Stanpovalichki told the dog, scratching behind its ears, "It's just that, well, even after all this time, the cruelty and inhumanity some people are capable of still hurts when you have to see it unfold. Well," he took hold of the dog's leash, "I have a feeling it won't be too hard to figure out which room they're in..."

He led his pet down the hall, listening in to each room they passed. Finally, as they approached the closed door of Room 514, familiar sobbing could be heard inside. "Think this is it, Keema," Stanpovalichki mused out loud. He put his ear to the door. "...if you can hear me, Melissa, please come back!" Brian tearfully whimpered to the girl he loved, "not just for me, but for Allison, for your parents, for your friends, for everyone your life's touched! You stood by me when I was like this; I'm not going to leave you when you need me. I know they're going to pull the plug if you if don't fight to come back with all you've got; you've got to pull through! Please, Melissa, please come back...!"

He broke down into hysterical sobs that made Stanpovalichki almost lose it as well outside the room. "I'm so sorry!" Brian lamented on the inside, "I should have looked for you sooner, should have tried to break up the fight between you and Allison more quickly; then maybe you wouldn't...!"

"Brian, stop, just stop!" Claire shouted from inside the room, sounding close to tears herself, "None of this is your fault, you understand me!?"

"It feels like my fault, Claire!"

"You expect too much of yourself! If this is anyone's fault besides that monster who did this to her, it's mine! She didn't want to check out the gunfire, but I was stupid enough to drag her along with me to see what was going on! I put her in harm's way; if she d-if the worst happens, this is on me...!"

She started crying hard herself. "Her parents trusted me to look over her, to make sure nothing would happen to her!" Brian whimpered out loud, "Her dad told me when I left work at his store last week that he thought of me as the son he'd never had. How can I face him and her mother now!? How can I face anyone now!? Oh God...!"

Stanpovalichki wiped at his eyes. "Well, here's hoping we can do something," he told Keema. Taking a deep breath, he checked both ways down the hall to confirm that no one was nearby, then snapped his fingers and knocked on the door. "You're not pulling the plug on her; she's going to pull through!" Brian shouted furiously towards the sound of the knock.

"Well, I hope so," Stanpovalichki opened the door and stepped inside. "Thank God, you're here!" Brian breathed a huge sigh of relief, "Please, help her, they're going to pull the plug on her, I know it!" he pointed desperately at the unconscious Melissa in the bed to his left.

"Who is this, Brian, and how do you know him?" a heavily bandaged Claire frowned in the bed on the right, "And how'd he get a dog in here?" she gazed in confusion at Keema.

"Let's just say for now Brian and I have a bit of history together, Claire," Stanpovalichki closed the door and gestured for his dog to sit.

"And how did you know my name!?" she turned pale, "I never saw you before...!"

"Not directly, no, but I've been following you for a while, Claire," the homeless man removed his hat and coat and set them down on a chair, "That time you were crying alone in the attic last year after your parents had the really big fight? I was there, and I was ready to offer any comfort you may have needed. If you'd gone from just depressed to suicidal, maybe I would have shown myself directly..."

"Who are you!?" she demanded, looking unnerved, "And when were you in my attic...!?"

"Claire, it's all right, he's a friend, and he can help," Brian assured her. "You can, can't you!?" he begged Stanpovalichki.

"I hope so," the homeless man glanced over Melissa with a grim expression.

"'Hope so's' not good enough! You have to bring her out of this, and heal Claire too, you've just got to! I'll give you anything, anything you want at all!" Brian fell to his knees and grabbed hold of Stanpovalichki's pant leg, "I'll trade places with Melissa if that's what you want, you hear me!? I'll willingly trade places with her!"

"Brian, I said stop!" Claire begged him, "You're not thinking straight! And what can this guy do...!?"

"You'd be surprised, Claire," Stanpovalichki told her. "Brian," he bent down and put a sympathetic arm around the boy, "It's really touching that you care for Melissa that much, and I appreciate that you have that much faith, but this is going to have to be her decision first and foremost. She's going to have to want to come back for me to be able to do anything. If she decides she wants to cross over, it's pretty much out of my hands."

"But she can't cross over! We all need her...!" Brian broke down in tears again and slumped against the side of Melissa's bed. "She told me I was her knight in shining armor. But I wasn't there when she needed me the most! I failed her, completely failed her! I'm no knight, I'm a total fraud...!" he mumbled, sniffing.

"There was nothing you could have done to stop this from happening, Brian, trust me on that," Stanpovalichki put a hand on his shoulder, "And look at the bigger picture: you got her and Claire safely out of the woods, and right now, here you are keeping them both company when they need someone around the most. That's pretty noble and knightly if you ask me. OK then," he took a nervous breath, "Let's see if I'll be able to do anything here..."

He walked to the head of the bed and leaned close to Melissa's ear. "Melissa, can you hear me?" he asked softly, "I'm going to ask an important question here: do you want to come back? If you do, give me a signal of some kind."

"Please, please, please...!" Brian begged under his breath, seizing hold of Melissa's hand, "Please come back...!"

"What is this supposed to be, some kind of new age stunt!?" Claire was more skeptical across the room.

"Keep your eyes open for any signs, Claire," Stanpovalichki instructed her.

"What are you...!?"

"Claire, believe!" Brian pleaded with her, squeezing Melissa's hand tighter. For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened at all-but suddenly, Keema started barking. His master's eyes shot down to the foot of the bed, where the sheets were moving slightly around Melissa's toes. "Thank God," Stanpovalichki breathed a sigh of deep relief, "She does want to come back. OK then," he walked back to the top of the bed and gently rubbed Melissa's head and neck where she'd been injured, "Time to wake up then, Melissa. There's a whole lot of people waiting here for you."

"Look, buddy, if you're not a doctor, this is...!" Claire started to protest, but abruptly let out a loud gasp of shock as Melissa moaned and sat up in bed, awake. "What happened?" she looked around, "Where am I?"

"Oh thank God!" an ecstatic Brian threw himself into her arms and started kissing her repeatedly, "I thought we'd lost you! Thank you!" he tearfully commended Stanpovalichki, "I'll give you any reward you want...!"

There came a loud clattering sound as a wide eyed, open mouthed Claire stumbled backwards into the table attachment to her bed, repeatedly making the sign of the cross. "Surprised?" Stanpovalichki grinned, raising an eyebrow at her, "I suppose those who don't expect that these things could happen..."

"WHO ARE YOU!?" she shrieked at him.

"A friend," the homeless man told her, "And perhaps it's best to leave it at that. Keema, you want to do the honors with her to start?" he asked his dog. With a low bark, Keema leaped up onto Claire's bed and started licking her face. "Cut it out, that tickles! You're...wait, what's happening!?" Claire put her hands to her face. The welts that had previously been at the spot Keema had licked were now gone. The Labrador started licking the other side of her face, and when he had stopped, her injuries there had also vanished. "What...what's going on...!?" she was dumbfounded, touching her now healed face repeatedly.

"Consider it a gift from me for someone like you who needs some happy endings," Stanpovalichki approached her bed, "Oh, and Claire, I realize your parents haven't been the best for you a lot of the time, but I'll ask you not to give up on them completely. Even if they don't care for each other anymore, they probably still care for you deep down. And don't just write off your dad's new girlfriend; give her a chance, and maybe she'll be the good friend you never knew you wanted. Now, this is going to come off a little strange, but if I do it right, that should take care of everything. Keema, a little room?"

He gestured for his dog to go down to the floor. With a low woof, Keema complied. Stanpovalichki grabbed hold of Claire's ankles, then rapidly raised them up and jerked them down as if snapping a whip. All her bandages fell off in succession from foot to head. "What...what...!?" a stunned Claire waved her now fully healed arms and legs around, "How did...why did...!?" she stammered at the homeless man.

"Because I care," he said cryptically, "And because you deserve it."

"Like I said, name your reward, and it's yours," a beaming Brian reminded him.

"Keep being Melissa's knight like you have been, Brian; that's reward enough for me," Stanpovalichki said, picking up his coat and hat, "Now, one other thing," his expression turned grave, "After the docs clear you all for release in a little while, your friends are going to need you back at the lake. The people who did this to you girls are up to no good, and the others are going to need your help."

"Really? But...we came here in an ambulance, how will we get back...?" Claire posed, sliding out of bed onto her feet.

"I can take care of that. By the time you and Melissa are cleared to leave, I'll have a ride waiting for you outside. I'm not sure if I can help much more beyond that, though; I'm stretching the usual parameters of my job by what I've done just now. So be ready to lend a hand to the others."

He slipped his coat and hat back on. "Well, I'd best be on my way and set up that ride; Keema," he snapped his fingers to his pet, who trotted over. "Take care now," he told the teens, taking hold of the dog's leash again, "And if we don't see each other again after this, have great lives."

He stepped outside and closed the door. "Wait, before you go, where...!?" Claire ran to the door and threw it open, but then stumbled backwards. "Where...where'd he go...!?" she gasped, staring up and down the hall. Stanpovalichki and his dog were nowhere to be seen in either direction. "Brian, who was that!?" she spun to the brain, "And where'd he...!?"

"Like he said, Claire, he's a friend," smiling, Brian helped Melissa out of bed and led her over to the door, "Just a friend looking out for us. How do you feel?" he asked Melissa.

"Fine, I guess," she told him, confused, "I remember that man starting to hit me, but then-nothing until I woke up just now..."

"You don't want to know the rest. I'm just so glad you're back," he hugged her close and planted another kiss on her cheek, "But if those men are planning something bad like he said, we'd better get there quick," his expression dropped.

"It is bad, Brian; they've already killed a load of Secret Service agents, and I heard them talking about a big explosion," Claire shivered, "I think they may be wanting to kill the president...!"

"Then we'd better get that discharge form soon-doctor," Brian hailed down one passing by, "They're OK now, can we check out!?"

"What do you mean they're OK; they were...!" the doctor's eyes went wide at the sight of Claire and Melissa standing before him, fully healed. He immediately keeled over backwards in a dead faint. "Uh, nurse...?" Melissa called hesitantly up the hall. "What did he mean by, we'd have a ride?" she asked her boyfriend.

"I don't know, Melissa, but I think we're going to like it one way or the other..."

* * *

"You want to turn my hotel into a war zone?" Wally frowned at Kevin over the front counter.

"It looks like Kevin has enough experience with these things, so we'd like to try," Ferris told the hotel's owner.

"I promise to pay for any damage this might cause," Kevin informed Wally. He waved Andrew down to his level and whispered, "Claire's family does have enough money in case it's a lot of damage, right?"

"Hope so," his friend's older brother whispered back. "We'd just need a quick look around to see what we could use as traps," he said to Wally.

"I don't know about this," Wally looked unconvinced, "I think it would be better if we just called the police...after we get these confounded phones working again," he picked up the one on the front desk. "Still nothing," he muttered, slamming it down with a loud ring-which in turn prompted loud barking from the back room. "Wormer, shut up in there!" Wally snapped at the dog.

"Is that dog vicious?" Ferris asked with a smile.

"She hates people, if that's what you mean."

"Well, there's one trap right there; Mr. Rooney hates dogs..."

"I don't think it's a good idea having you kids put yourselves in harm's way like you're suggesting," Wally shook his head, still not sold on the booby trap idea. He picked up a radio and activated it. "Leonard, how's it going with that phone tower!?"

"County's working on it right now, Wally. Looks the phone and internet lines got cut deliberately," Leonard informed him grimly, loud enough for everyone else to hear.

"Yeah, that matches what I've heard," Wally shot a gaze at his young guests, "How long till they're back up!? I want to be able to call the cops real soon."

"With the amount of damage whoever cut it caused, we're looking at another half hour at least, Wally. So contact the Secret Service if this is a major league emergency and have them..."

"Hey, look, that man out there," Allison pointed towards the front door. Ernest was visible just outside, talking over a radio of his own. "What the hell's he doing with a radio-and slacking off of work again!?" Wally muttered, frowning at his employee. "Call you back, Leonard; something's up here," he told his aide, switching his radio off. He stormed towards the door, everyone else following behind him. "Ernest, what are you doing!?" he demanded once he stepped outside. Ernest turned pale and started to draw a gun, but Wally quickly slapped it out of his hands and pinned Ernest's arms behind his back. "All right, Ernest, talk; are you behind whatever's going on up here!?" he demanded.

"You're all too late. America will be free again," Ernest ranted, "Matthew Simmons is as good as dead; nothing can stop the blast, not you, not anyone!"

"Blast!?" Ferris turned pale. "What blast, where, when, and how are they setting it off!?" he demanded to Ernest.

"You kids are so smart, find out for yourselves!" Ernest laughed coldly.

"Natalie...!" Cameron had gone pale as well, his gaze shooting in the direction of the big stage, "She's bound to be up there as well...!"

"I know," Ferris gulped, "Tell you what, Cam, see if you can get over there in time; get them off the stage!" he instructed his best friend, "John, go with him," he told Bender.

"With Frye!?" Bender frowned at Cameron, "And for...!?"

"Look, even though the two of you don't get along that well, and even though you might not like the office Matthew Simmons holds, John, this is an emergency, and the man is a husband and a father as well as the president. Now I trust that you're a good enough person to put aside any enmity you might feel for the overall greater good, John," Ferris leaned firmly in Bender's face, "Tell me I'm making the right call here?"

Bender looked in the direction of the stage, then over at Cameron, who reluctantly extended a hand towards him. The criminal then turned to Andrew and Allison for affirmation. Both gave him nods. "All right, Frye, truce for a greater good," he shook Cameron's hand.

"What's the fastest way to get to the stage from here!?" Cameron asked Wally.

"Probably the golf cart around back. Let's go, you treacherous mole!" Wally gave Ernest a shove, "You can cool off in the maintenance shed till I can call the cops!"

"You'll never make it!" Ernest taunted the teens, "We're blasting in less than ten minutes, and we've got guys surrounding the stage dressed as Secret Service men! You'll never get anywhere near Simmons in time!"

"Oh yeah, just watch!" Cameron shouted at him. "Come on!" he yelled at Bender, running hard for the rear of the hotel. Bender shrugged and followed. "All right, Kevin, let's take a look around and see what we can use," Allison took the younger boy's hand and turned towards the hotel.

"I'm not sure ten minutes is going to be enough time to properly set up enough booby traps!" Kevin protested, "I usually needed at least an hour before the bad guys arrive!"

"Try, Kev; we've got to try!" Andrew encouraged him.

"And if it works, it'll be your best performance ever," Allison added, leading both boys inside. Ferris and Sloane exchanged worried glances. "They must have planted that guy to keep track of the president's every move up here," she mumbled, pointing at the retreating Ernest, "This was a major plan the whole time."

"At least we caught it. Now let's hope we can stop it, before..." Ferris stopped as his cell phone started ringing. "Huh?" he pulled it out, "How is this ringing? I thought the service was still down?"

"Mine's still down; I don't know what the story is," Sloane stared at her own cell phone, which still had a No Service message on its screen. Ferris shrugged and answered his phone. "Hello? Oh. Where are you? And how did you get my number? I never told it to you. Who did? _What_ was his name? Well, whoever he was, he made the right call...but how would he know if they're all right? Well then, hurry up and get them, then drive back to the lake as fast as you can; unless we can find out where a load of explosives has been planted, the Simmons family, and probably a load of innocent people standing too close to the blast site, are going to die horrific deaths. You know already? Well, there's no time for me to hear the whole story now; just get them and drive back here. Call again when you're on your way, and hurry...!"

* * *

"At least they signed the discharge forms quick after they agreed we were cured," Claire mused out loud, following Brian and Melissa out the hospital's front door, "Now the question is, if that guy arranged a ride, how will we know which one's the right car?"

A siren blared up the driveway from them. "That must be it," Melissa nodded, seeing a police car with flashing lights coming at them, "He must have set up...wait, WHAT!?" it was her turn to stumble backwards in shock upon seeing who was driving the police car...

"JEREMY!?" Claire shrieked at the sight of him, seemingly alive and well, behind the wheel.

"Claire," he leaned out the window, concerned, "Are you all right!?"

Her eyes rolling back into her head, Claire fainted dead away to the sidewalk. Brian and Melissa scrambled to pick her up. "But...we saw those men shoot you right in the face!" the latter protested to Jeremy, who jumped out of the car to give them a hand.

"I remember that guy taking aim at me, but nothing after that. The next thing I do know, I was standing in the middle of woods with some hobo who looked exactly like that famous bobsled coach from Jamaica," Jeremy explained with a frown, helping the two brains load Claire into the front passenger seat, "He told me I'd find this cop car by the lake's primary restaurant, and told me to drive here and get you. I was skeptical of his story until I did see the car there, with the keys in the ignition, too. There was also a cell phone on the driver's seat, with a note to call the number listed when I had the chance. It was Ferris's number; we'll keep in touch with him. Right now, we've got to get back to the lake fast; they're going to kill the president real soon! Get in, quick!"

"I'm sorry, but none of this makes any logical sense!" Melissa protested, nonetheless climbing into the back seat, then grabbing hold of Jeremy's forehead, which did feel warm and normal, "You were shot seven times in the face at point blank range; NOBODY survives that! And how can some guy who's apparently from the Jamaican bobsled team get a ready to go police car on short notice and know where to send you with it!? I don't understand this at all!"

"Actually, it makes perfect sense to me, Melissa," Brian patted her hand, giving a knowing smile skyward, "I'll explain later, though. In the meantime, burn rubber!" he commanded Jeremy.

"Rubber burning!" Jeremy jammed his foot down on the accelerator, "Just hope we're not too late!"

* * *

"A toast, Richard, to the end of the brat kids we hate," Rooney raised a glass of beer high on the porch of the militants' cabin.

"To putting the lice in their place," Vernon clanked glasses with him and downed the drink. "And why should we worry about Johnson anyway?" he shrugged, "He's a weak, pathetic little snowflake who needs everyone else covering his back to have any spine. He can't do anything to wreck us now. Maybe if we're lucky, he'll finish what he started back in March: buy a gun somewhere here at the lake and blow his brains out in grief that he couldn't save the others. Wonder if they've run out of air yet if they weren't killed immediately?"

"Maybe. Now the question is slipping away from these clowns once they carry out their great patriotic deed, and getting back to Shermer," Rooney gestured at O'Donoghue, who was pacing impatiently in front of a table that had been dragged out in front of the cabin, on top of which five detonators now sat. "We burn down Bueller's house, blow up Shermer High, then buy the first plane tickets to South America we can get. And we can take pride that we witnessed a milestone moment in history firsthand. Matthew Simmons is a dog, especially for pushing for me to get slapped with life, and this is his just desserts to be blown to bits like this. As for these guys," he gestured at the militants, "Once we're in the air heading for Montevideo or wherever, we call the feds and turn them in; let them reap..."

"Here I come, Hank!" came Gaylord's shout from the woods. The explosives expert ran towards the cabin, the detonator cable still unreeling from its spool behind him. "No sign of any feds the whole way, Hank; it's now officially show time," he told his commander with a grin.

"OK, connect that wire to these detonators, fast as you can!" O'Donoghue ordered him. "Moose, you're in charge of the countdown; where are we now?" he asked his top aide.

"It is now..." Moose removed his watch and stared at it, "Five fifty-seven. Simmons should be on stage in three minutes."

"All right men, positions! This is it, at last!" O'Donoghue commanded his men, "It is now, officially," he leaned over Moose's shoulder to stare at the watch, "exactly eight minutes to detonation, counting down..."


	18. Countdown to Doom

"There was a time I couldn't have been able to tell you anything about stars and planets. But once Melissa got hooked on rockets and astronomy, she got me and Carol hooked too," Mr. Winters told the rest of the parents inside Aker's of Food, "The last twelve years have been a more or less continuous quest by us to find her the perfect viewing site; I think by now we've covered every state park, public open field, and back valley road within at least three states. And you know, it's been wonderful to share the experience with her. That'll be my defining memory of her no matter how old she grows: laying flat on our backs on the hood of Carol's station wagon, blankets pulled up to our necks, snacks within arm's length, staring up at the sky together for hours on end. For me, she'll always be the sweet little nine year old leaning her head onto my arm when she got too tired to go on stargazing and mumbling softly, 'Thank you, Daddy. I love you.' I guess it might be the same with a couple of you?" he asked the others.

"You guessed right," Mrs. Johnson nodded knowingly, "I'll always see Brian in part as the bright-faced young boy who'd run as hard as he could to my car at the end of school because he couldn't wait for me to take him to my bookstore. Once we got there, he'd run around the aisles like he was in a candy store, looking for something to read, usually to follow up on whatever his teachers had brought up in class that day. And once he'd found what he was looking for, I wouldn't have to worry about keeping an eye on him; he'd just plop down on the floor behind the counter and read away until it was closing time. That's probably how I'm always going to remember him, because that was when he seemed the happiest, until now, at least."

"And yet," Mrs. Reynolds turned back to the Winterses, "You clearly love your daughter a lot, but neither of you really saw that she was skating with suicide until she told you outright in the car when you were going back to Lake Forest after the Simmons competition?"

"Well," Mrs. Winters took a deep, uncomfortable breath, "They say hindsight is 20/20, and looking back now, the warning signs were there. Melissa hadn't smiled in so long, she spent hours alone in her room, she'd lost interest in her rockets. Ted and I assumed it was senioritis, but if she..." she lowered her head onto the table, "She could have come to us at any time; we would have listened, we would have...!"

"Yes, I'm sure you would have listened," Mr. Johnson leaned towards her with a grim expression, "But given how highly you think of her, would you really have believed her?"

Mrs. Winters opened her mouth to answer, but she was unable to say anything. She and her husband turned to each other and broke down, essentially answering Mr. Johnson's question for him. "She...she had a good life; it made no sense for her to want to...to commit suicide!" Mr. Winters lamented, "Would anyone have believed someone like her wanted to...we're not bad people, you have to believe us on that!"

"We know you're not bad people, you're definitely not bad people at all. But Mercedes and I would never have thought Brian would have wanted to end it either, and...well, starter's pistol or not, it came dangerously close there too despite what we'd thought was possible," Mr. Johnson shook his head glumly, "Sometimes in even the best situations, things can just go horribly wrong, like it almost did with our children...what's the status on the roads?" he asked the approaching Aker.

"Called a friend of mine with the Department of Transportation; it's still going take another hour to clear the interstate," Aker shook his head, "This has to be one of the worst accidents to hit this stretch of I-94 in years."

"Terrific. Now we'll probably be stuck here exactly as long as our kids were in detention that day at this rate!" Mrs. Johnson rolled her eyes. "Well, since we started on how we'd best like to remember our kids when they're grown up and moved out, how about you?" she asked Mrs. Reynolds and the Clarks, "What are you favorite memories of them?"

"Favorite memory? That's easy: WrestleMania came to Chicago when Andy was ten, and I didn't hesitate to take him there. Maybe he and I have some trouble seeing eye to eye now, but we were definitely on the same page that day," Mr. Clark reminisced, "To share that moment with him felt...what do you mean a special report!?" he abruptly shouted at the TV screen, which had cut away from the Brewers-Phillies game to a Special Report slide, and now faded to an image of the stage at Lake Olafsson, with the text PRESIDENT TO MAKE SPEECH ON MIDDLE EASTERN SUMMIT. "Really, Simmons, cut off the game when it's tied in the top of the ninth for some failed policy decision!?" he lambasted the country's leader.

"You get the point of Clarence's best moment with Andy," Mrs. Clark told the other parents, rolling her eyes, "For me, it was every time I was able to bring Andy into work. Usually about once a year, they'd let you bring the kids in. To share my job with him, that felt special, to let him see everything I did. He made it clear he didn't want to work in civil service, but I could tell he appreciated seeing my job in action. And usually, afterwards, we'd make it a whole day on the town: we'd walk around, eat out, shop around. It felt like I was really bonding with him then. And it felt great to share the time with him. How about you and your daughter?" she turned to Mrs. Reynolds.

"Well, there's not too much to talk about, given Allison and I were never that close even before the divorce. But I think the times we were happiest together, especially when I was still married to Nick, was whenever I took her to the Lincoln Park Zoo," Mrs. Reynolds remembered with a nostalgic expression, "I think Allison's felt just as if not more comfortable around animals as she has around humans. The seal pool was always her favorite zoo attraction; she could just spend hours there watching them swim around and...oh, excuse me a moment," she paused as her cell phone started ringing. "Hello?" she answered it.

"Hello, did you call earlier?" an unfamiliar woman said on the other end of the line, sounding worried, "Someone at this number left a message about Claire Standish..."

"Uh, yes, I did," Mrs. Reynolds admitted, "Who is this?"

"I'm Marcia Maddox, I've been dating her father for the last few weeks, although Claire and I haven't gotten off on the right foot so far; she seems to see me as a threat to replace her mother, which I don't want to do. But anyway, what happened that Claire's in the hospital...!?"

"Wait a minute, what!? Hospital!?" frowning, Mrs. Reynolds jumped to her feet, prompting everyone else around the table to do the same and rush over to her to listen in on the conversation, "What do you mean Claire Standish is in the hospital!?"

"We got another call from the Claire County Hospital in Wisconsin; Claire was found in the woods near Lake Olafsson, beaten badly! I got her father to cancel the rest of our vacation, and we're coming back east as soon as we can. What's going on up there!?"

"I...I don't know...!" a numb Mrs. Reynolds mumbled, "My daughter was one of the kids with her...if Claire's been attacked by someone, that means she could be...tell you what: we're about thirty miles from Lake Olafsson now, the other parents of the kids she went with and I. We'll try and get up there as quick as we can, and we'll keep you informed of whatever we find. Where are you now!?"

"About to board a plane for Milwaukee; we should be there within three and a half hours. If you hear any updates on Claire's condition, please let me know; I'm so worried for her now!" Maddox lamented.

"We will. Thanks for calling back," Mrs. Reynolds hung up. "You all heard that, right?" she grimly asked the other parents.

"Yeah," Mrs. Clark nodded, pale, "If something's happened to Claire, then Andy might be in danger too...sir, we've got to go now!" she flagged down the passing Aker, "We just learned our kids could be in trouble; one member of their group whose parents aren't with us got attacked and ended up in the hospital!"

"Attacked!?" Aker grimaced, "Oh boy, that is real serious, then. But the interstate's still blocked, and..."

His gaze abruptly shot to the TV screen, which was showing a wide shot of the stage the president would soon be speaking on-and with it, several Secret Service agents that were standing alongside it. "Wait a minute," the restaurant owner frowned, squinting at the screen and pointing at one of the agents, "I think I know that guy. Can I borrow these?" he snatched Mr. Johnson's glasses off before the man could protest, placed them over his own eyes, walked up to the screen, and stared hard at the man. "Oh my god..." he moaned in terror.

"What's the matter?" Mr. Johnson blindly stumbled over to him.

"That guy's no Secret Service agent," Aker pointed at the man again, "His name's Abel Noonan; he's a violent anti-government radical. Two years ago, he walked into a Green Bay coffee shop and shot two cops in the back in cold blood to try and start a revolution; it was all over the news up here in Wisconsin. They gave him life, but he escaped six months later...and now it looks like he's up to no good again. And if he is...oh no," he realized with a horrified expression, handing Mr. Johnson his glasses back, "He's probably not the only fake agent...they're going to kill the president to try and start that revolution...!"

"Wait, are you sure that's him...!?" Mrs. Johnson protested, coming over to stare at the man herself.

"Lady, I'm dead sure. And that means that your kids might be in real deep with something really bad," Aker said grimly, making all the parents gasp in horror. "Well, tell you what, then," a determined look crossed the restaurant owner's face, "Since I happen to like you people, I think I might be able to help get you up there in time. The restaurant's catering truck's out back; there's room in the back for all of you plus the two little ones."

"In a catering truck!?" Mr. Clark's expression fell.

"For our son, certainly," his wife spoke up, looking deathly afraid for Andrew's safety now. "But is there a way to get there without using the interstate?" she asked Aker.

"I know a few back roads that can get us there in about twenty-five minutes or so if I go fast enough. Hey Jonathan, I've got an emergency to take care of; hold down the fort till I get back!" Aker shouted through the kitchen door, "Call the police and the FBI too while you're at it; tell them there's a major assassination about to go down at Lake Olafsson!"

"Yeah, really, Frank?" came the skeptical call back from the kitchen.

"No joke, Jonathan; I just saw Abel Noonan posing as a Secret Service agent no more than ten feet from where Matthew Simmons is going to be giving a speech in no more than five minutes! Go get your kids; I'll pull around front!" Aker shouted to the parents, rushing into the kitchen. Mr. Clark led what quickly became a stampede out the restaurant's door. "Julian, come on, we're...hey, hey, let go of my kid!" he shouted to Mary, who had Julian in a stranglehold inside the playground.

"But we're having fun! Say uncle!" Mary commanded Julian, tightening the chokehold instead.

"Mary Renee Johnson, let go of him right now, or you're grounded for the rest of the summer!" her mother ordered. Sighing, Mary released Julian, who gasped for air. "So much for being the brave and flawless knight...!" he mumbled in disgust to himself. He followed Mary back out into the parking lot, where Mrs. Reynolds was dialing another number. "Nick, it's me again," she told her ex-husband coolly, "If you're ready to...you are?" her expression became surprised, "Well, where are you now...that far? Well, I am impressed, Nick...and I'm glad. The Standish girl ended up in the hospital...yeah, they found her beaten up at Lake Olafsson, and we saw militia members posing as Secret Service agents on TV too...I tried Allison's cell phone, but there's no reception at the lake right now...I certainly hope to god she is. There's a major backup on the interstate past where we got off, but god willing it'll have cleared by then. Thanks for pulling it together for this, Nick; Allison needs both of us right now. He did leave to come up; he's in the eastern Milwaukee suburbs now," she told her traveling companions after hanging up, "Maybe I did underestimate what he..."

A horn blared out. "All aboard," Aker pulled alongside the families in a bright red catering truck, "And hold on tight back there; I'm going to go a bit over the speed limit to get you there quicker."

"We appreciate this," Mrs. Clark commended him. She and the others rushed for the back and climbed inside...where the temperature was a good forty degrees cooler owing to the ice cream and other frozen entrees stored in freezers inside. "You've got to be kidding me!" Mary complained, shivering, "We're not traveling in this igloo!"

"Sorry, honey, but it's the only way..." her father abruptly stumbled forward into the wall as Aker stepped on the gas and tore out of the parking lot. "But if we go fast enough, we should be at Lake Olafsson before it gets too cold for us...I hope..."

* * *

"Very nice, very nice!" President Simmons was at that moment applauding the returned Kenosha Kickers from the wings of the stage as the polka band finished a stirring rendition of the Armed Forced Medley on stage. "Well, this is it, Zaid," he turned to the emir and shook the Kuwaiti ruler's hand, "Time to tell the world we're going to try to make it a better place."

"Here's to hoping, Matthew; we have to at least try," the emir nodded. "And I must say, Matthew," he told the president, "I have never had more fun than I have had this week. We need to have more summits like this down the road. Perhaps invite those kids along too next time, right, Ahmed?" he turned to his nephew behind him.

"That would be nice, Uncle Zaid. Have you seen Andrew this afternoon?" Ahmed asked, concerned, "I wish to offer him my comforts for whatever was bothering him..."

"No, we haven't seen him, Ahmed, but we're looking. We can tell him you've been worried about him..." Natalie stopped, frowning at one of the nearby agents. "Is that guy new, Dad?" she asked her father, pointing, "I thought Mack was going to hold down that position during the speech?"

"Hmm," her father gazed at him, "Can't say I've seen him before. But then again, new guys do cycle in a lot."

"Mack asked for time off, Mr. President. I'm filling in," the unfamiliar agent said quickly.

"Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense. Well, Doug, everyone, here we go," Simmons tapped the snoozing vice president on the shoulder and straightened up himself at the sound of Gus Polinski announcing on stage, "Ladies and gentlemen, President Matthew Simmons, accompanied by the First Family, Vice President Douglas Kenney, and Emir Zaid I." The president strode onto the stage, high fiving Polinski when the polka bandleader extended a palm towards him on his way off. "Good afternoon," he greeted the crowd and the TV audiences watching around the world, "It is a great pleasure to be able to speak to you all today. Jim Henson once said, 'My hope is to leave the world a little better for having been there.' And I myself share that sentiment as well. Around the world, there are many places where war, chaos, and other scourges of humanity still hold sway. Holding the position I do, it would only be right that I try and do what I can to throw such demons to the ash heap of history..."

Natalie was only partially paying attention to her father's words. Her eyes scanned around the crowd, and one thing became quickly clear: she didn't recognize any of the Secret Service agents surrounding the stage, many of whom were staring up at her father with what looked like clearly contemptuous expressions. A pit was forming in the bottom of her stomach. "Mom, something's wrong," she sided alongside her mother and whispered in her ear.

"Shh, you're father's giving the speech of his lifetime," the First Lady gently quieted her.

"But Mom, I've got a bad feeling," Natalie glanced down at one particularly angry looking agent right in front of where she was standing, "Something's just not right..."

* * *

"What happened?" Claire moaned, sliding upright in the front seat of the police cruiser, "The last thing I remember was..."

She turned sideways...and let out a shrill scream to see Jeremy driving the car. "Claire, Claire, it's all right, it's just me!" he told her.

"But it can't be you!" she poked his shoulder hard repeatedly, as if testing to see if he was a ghost, "That maniac shot you dead right in the face!"

"He shot me, yeah; how I survived, I don't know," Jeremy shook his head.

"What is happening around here!?" Claire screamed to the sky, "First that guy brings Melissa practically back from the dead, now Jeremy too...!"

"Wait, what guy?" the congressional aide frowned, "You mean, the man who I spoke with after I came to?"

"That's him," Brian leaned forward over the seat with a wry smile, "And he's one of the best people I know. So, now that Claire's up," he fixed Jeremy with a frown, "Don't you have something to say to her!?"

"Yeah, I do. Claire, I'm so sorry," Jeremy braked the car to a halt and turned to her with a heavy expression, "You deserved better from me. I'm just a coward and a rat to have been going around with other girls while trying to hit on you. If it means anything, I did genuinely fall in love with you. You are truly pretty and sweet, I meant every word I told you about that. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'd...I'd like to try again, this time with you the only girl in my life. I called off all the other relationships I'd been carrying on since I came to Washington this morning; none of them can even hope to compare to you. Can you forgive me?"

He gave her an almost pleading look. "Well..." Claire began slowly, "I'll have to give it some thought. But if you are sincere," she looked him right in the eye, "I wouldn't mind trying it again. But you'll have to prove yourself, you understand that?"

"Yes, yes I do," Jeremy nodded, "Show me whatever I have to do, and I'll do it. Because you're more than..."

His cell phone started ringing. "Ferris," he mused, quickly flipping it open while pressing the accelerator down again. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Just giving you an update: we were able to interrogate the militia's mole thanks to Wally's dog," Ferris said breathlessly on the other end, loud enough for everyone else to hear, "They've planted several hundred tons of explosives under the stage; they're going to detonate midway through the president's speech."

"It's 6:02; he's already started..." Melissa frowned worriedly at the clock on the police car's dashboard. "Did he say where they're blasting from!?" she shouted at the phone.

"In fact he did. Where are you now?" Ferris asked.

"Uh...just passing the bait shop about a mile from the outer Secret Service checkpoint," Jeremy noticed it zip by on his right.

"Cut into the woods as soon as you can; they're in a cabin about three miles past that. Try and stop them without getting yourselves killed," Ferris instructed them, "Once you do, try and lead them back to the hotel; we're setting up a load of goodies to take them with out until we can call the cops. I sent a hotel bellboy after Cameron and John to bring them up to speed, and tell them to get to the stage in the meantime and get the Simmonses off. Either way, hurry; we've probably got no more than five minutes."

"Right, thanks," Jeremy hung up. "OK everyone, hold on," he swerved hard off the road and into the woods, bumping everyone around on the rougher terrain, "Let's hope we can find these guys quickly enough and stop them...!"

* * *

"Just about there..." Gaylord mumbled, twisting the last wire around the last detonator and turning the final screw tight, "And there we are. Ready to blast when you are, Hank," he told his commander.

"Excellent," O'Donoghue activated his radio. "Spread the word, Abel; we'll all hooked up and ready to go," he ordered one of his men posing as a Secret Service agent, "It is now," he checked Moose's watch, "three minutes and thirty-one seconds to detonation; tell everyone to start stepping back from the stage, but keep your weapons ready in case Simmons figures it out."

He signed off. "Attention!" he shouted to his command, who immediately snapped to attention. "A moment of silence, men, for the patriots who have died in the noble cause of freedom to date," he told them, bowing his head, "For the patriotic members of the Branch Davidians, slaughtered in cold blood standing up to an overreaching government..."

"They were child molesters, and the evidence made it clear they burned the compound down themselves, you dope," Vernon muttered softly under his breath by the cabin door.

"...for the martyr Timothy McVay, wrongfully executed for the federal government's crime of blowing up the Murrah building to try and take away the people's rights..."

"The evidence was overwhelming he planted the bomb, and what rights did we lose afterwards?" the former superintendent mumbled again.

"...for the patriot LaVoy Finnicum, murdered in cold blood defending the sanctity of American land rights..."

"He took over federal property by armed force, and he was clearly going for a gun when they shot him."

"...for the thousands of American citizens murdered in the World Trade Center by their own government on the Jews' orders..."

"You really think the Arabs are that inept, pal?"

"...and for every other citizen oppressed by an out of control government operating under the slavish control of foreigners, we dedicate today's mission," O'Donoghue finished his crazed spiel with a deep breath of relief. "All right men, to your detonators!" he ordered, stepping behind the center detonator himself. "Continue the countdown, Moose," he told his top aide.

"Detonation in two minutes, fifty-six seconds," Moose declared, staring intently at his watch, "Counting down..."

* * *

"Either there's some whole different John Bender inside me that I didn't know was there, or I've gone completely out of my mind, Frye, because I have no idea why I'm stooping to trying to save Matty with you," Bender muttered out loud to Cameron as the latter braked their golf cart to a stop at the edge of the outer security perimeter.

"Offhand, I'm not sure which it is either," Cameron admitted, leaping off the cart. "You know, John, I've done some thinking, though," he looked right at Bender, "We're really not that different if you think about it. We've both been abused by our fathers real bad, you physically and me psychologically. The only real difference is that you responded by lashing out, and I responded by crawling into a shell. So maybe there's actually reason for us to want to get to know each other better, like Ferris said, about breaking down walls."

"Me, friends with you, Frye? Don't be ridiculous," Bender snorted.

"Well, if you do help me save Natalie here, I may have to consider wanting to be friends with you. And in the meantime, could you at least keep an open mind, as long as we have to work together with this?" Cameron asked him.

"Maybe," Bender mumbled, shaking his head. "What?" Cameron asked him.

"What you said about our fathers...I've hated mine with every ounce of my being my whole life, but...I don't know why I'm feeling this way, but I saw in the paper yesterday he'd been attacked and beaten in our house, and he's in the hospital now. I'll bet Dick and Eddie did it, trying to find out where I was. But anyway," Bender flinched, looking uncomfortable to be thinking the way he was, "Somehow, I actually feel sorry for my old man, seeing him go through what he's put me through, and...if we survive this and go home, I'm thinking I might stop in to visit him. He's probably not going to change-he's too far gone in his ways-but...I don't know, maybe if I show him something resembling mercy, he'd at least consider...?"

He shook his head hard. "Well, who knows?" Cameron shrugged, his eyes locking in on the First Family on stage, "I thought I'd never have the courage to stand up to my father, but I did, so I guess anything's possible. As for my father having any hope of redemption, maybe, maybe not. He spent the whole trial staring ahead blankly into space, so who knows what he was thinking then, or even now? I'm not ready to try and cross the bridge to him yet, but maybe down the road, if I see reasonable proof he's changed for the better...well, we'll see. For now, we've got a job to do."

He and Bender rushed towards the magnetometers at the edge of the security perimeter. "Whoa, hold your horses," two agents stepped into their path, frowning. "Unless you have clearance or a press pass, no one goes in here while the president's speaking," the larger agent told them sternly.

"Listen, Paul Blart, there's a bomb under the stage that's going to go off any minute...!" Bender shouted at him.

"There's no bomb; we had a team sweep it a half hour before the president showed up, and they confirmed there was nothing there," the other agent said.

"They weren't Secret Service men, then; they must be militants who infiltrated your ranks!" Cameron protested, "Please, either let us through or send the word to get the president off the stage now!"

"We have everything under control, kid, and we don't have time for wild stories. Now move along," the first agent jerked a finger to the side. Growling in disgust, Cameron reluctantly complied. "Now what!? You've got any ideas, John!?" he asked Bender.

"In fact, if you're bent on going through with this, Frye, I do," Bender reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out two round white spheres, "Bueller may have taken my pot stash, but he didn't get these smoke bombs."

"I can only guess what you were planning on doing with them," Cameron rolled his eyes, "But this just might work. Just don't set them off too close to here..."

* * *

"One minute, twenty seconds," Moose announced at the cabin, "Everyone get ready for some fireworks..."

* * *

"I see a grove of hemlocks to my right-at least I think they're hemlocks-and a steep ravine to our left. So tell us we're close to them!" a frustrated Jeremy barked to Ferris over his cell phone, having stopped the police car in the middle of the woods.

"Can't help you there, Jeremy; the guy didn't say what the woods around the cabin looked like, and I don't have a complete map of the woods!" Ferris lamented, "You're pointed in the right direction, but that's all I can give you right now! So just take a pick and hope for the best. Sorry, that's the best I can offer. And again, hurry; we're probably no more than three minutes away from a big bang!"

He hung up again. "Now what do we do!?" Jeremy shouted, tossing the cell phone to the floor in disgust.

"Wait, listen outside," Melissa suggested, rolling down the nearest window in the backseat, "If we're close enough, maybe we can hear something."

"Sure hope so," Claire rolled down her own window. "I don't...wait, listen!" she spoke up, holding up her hand. Sure enough, a voice could just be heard in the distance to the northeast announcing loudly, "One minute to detonation, counting down." "Oh God, one minute to go already...floor it!" she shouted at Jeremy.

"Right!" Jeremy hit the gas, "And give me a plan, because I don't know what we're going to do next!"

* * *

"...fifty-six, fifty-five, fifty-four, fifty-three..."

* * *

"Are they set!?" Cameron impatiently grilled Bender as the criminal rushed back over to him.

"Get ready, Frye, we're going to have smoke in three, two, one," Bender jerked his arm down at the exact moment loud puffs of smoke went off with large bangs to their right. "Code nine, code nine!" the nearest Secret Service agents shouted, rushing off in the direction of the smoke and leaving the magnetometers unguarded. Both boys rushed through them and started pushing their way through the crowd. "NATALIE!" Cameron shouted as loud as he could towards the stage, "NATALIE, GET OFF THE STAGE; IT'S RIGGED TO BLOW!"

"She's not going to hear you back here, Frye!" Bender protested, shoving people out of his way a little too hard.

"Then we've got to get closer! NATALIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME!? THERE'S DYNAMITE UP THERE!" Cameron screamed, rushing and shoving his way towards the inner security ring...

...where a trio of agents grabbed him and Bender. "Far enough, kid!" one of them snarled, dragging him back, "No one gets this close to the president."

"Let go of me; he's in danger! They're all in danger...!" Cameron protested. His eyes went wide when the agents shoved guns right in his face. "Shut up, you little brat!" one of them growled, "This blast's going off whether you or anyone likes it or not. Now let's go...!"

* * *

"...thirty-seven, thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four..."

* * *

In a flash, Bender swung kicks into the balls of the fake agents nearest to him, then shoved the rest to the ground. "Go, I'll keep them occupied!" he told Cameron, grappling with the men. Cameron rushed forward towards the stage again. "NATALIE, IT'S ME, YOU'RE IN DANGER!" he shrieked towards the girl of his dreams on stage, "GET OUT OF THERE...!"

"All right, kid," a legitimate agent grabbed him from behind and started dragging him away, "You've got a big penalty to pay for violating a secure perimeter!"

"Let go of me, you don't understand! NATALIE!" Cameron made one last shout towards the stage. And it was at this moment that Natalie looked up towards the sound of her name being called. "Cameron...!" she recognized him. Without even realizing it, she rushed to the center of the stage and grabbed the microphone off her father. "Honey, what are you doing, I'm in the middle of the speech here!" he protested, looking confused. His daughter paid no attention. "You there, let that boy go," she instructed the agents, who turned in surprise, "And one of you give him a microphone, it looks like he's got something to say..."

* * *

"Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty...!" Moose's counting was getting more and more excited by the second. And behind the table, O'Donoghue was feeling the same excitement. "Gentlemen, hands on your plungers," he ordered the other blasters, grabbing hold of the middle detonator's plunger himself, "This is it...!"

* * *

Cameron seized the microphone he was handed in a flash. "NATALIE, MR. PRESIDENT, THERE'S EXPLOSIVES UNDER THE STAGE!" he bellowed, setting off horrified screams in the crowd, "IT'S GOING TO GO OFF ANY SECOND NOW!"

"What!?" President Simmons turned pale, "You sure about this, Cameron!?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Mr. President; get off the stage now!" he screamed.

"Oh my god...!" panicked, Simmons seized his wife and daughter's hands and turned to run-but suddenly found the way off stage blocked by Secret Service agents with their weapons raised. "What...what's the meaning of this!?" he demanded, going white.

"You're not going anywhere, Simmons!" one of the agents snarled, "Time to die to make America free again!"

* * *

"I don't see anything, do you!?" Claire shouted to the brains in the back seat, her own eyes scanning around the woods desperately.

"No! I can hear them, but I can't see them!" Melissa lamented, "We've got to be close, but we're almost out of time...!"

"Wait, there, there, I see them!" Brian pointed out the right rear window. Jeremy braked to an abrupt stop atop a hill he'd been driving along. All eyes turned to the right and stared through the trees at the men clustered around the table in front of the cabin at the bottom of the hill. And the sound of a countdown in progress, now at a mere twelve seconds, reached his and the others' ears. "So now what!?" a worried Jeremy inquired.

"Ram that table and stop them!" Claire shouted.

"Can we get down there in time...!?"

"GO!" she stomped her foot down hard on top of his on the accelerator. "Please be in time...!" she begged desperately out loud.

* * *

"Seven, six...!" O'Donoghue was shouting along with the count now, his hands beginning to move his plunger gently up and down in preparation for the coming explosion, "...five, four, three, two...!"


	19. Lake Alone

There came the sound of a horn blaring loudly to his left, followed by the wail of a siren. O'Donoghue turned and screamed to see the police car roaring right at the table. He and the other militants holding the detonators dove to safety seconds before the car smashed into the table. It then backed up and ran over the detonators, crushing them. A figure leaned out of the front passenger window and started taking pictures of the militants with her cell phone. "What!? Standish!?" Vernon leaped to his feet, stunned, "How...how did she heal up that quick!?"

"Hey Mr. Vernon, how many life sentences do you think aiding and abetting these guys'll earn you?" Claire called coolly to him, snapping another photo of he and Rooney together, then flashing them both an obscene gesture. The car tore off in the direction of the lake. "Standish you dirty mother-!" Vernon's roar was drowned out by gunshots as the militants belatedly opened fire on the car, although it was already out of their range. "After them!" an enraged O'Donoghue bellowed, disgustedly picking up one of the crushed and broken detonators, "If they get those photos to the feds, we're all going to the death chamber!"

He tossed the detonator aside and joined his men in rushing for their vehicles. "We're dead meat too if they get to the law!" Rooney growled to his colleague, grabbing a heavy rifle from a pile nearby and tossing a second one to Vernon.

"You don't have to tell me, Ed; even though her parents are lazy lice, they'll still have the book thrown at me if they found I harmed their child!" Vernon muttered, "We've got to take her and the others out for good this time, no mercy!"

"Get in!" O'Donoghue gestured for them to get into the back seat of the car he'd climbed into. "Floor it, Moose!" he told his top aide behind the wheel, "Hopefully the men on site can still shoot Simmons dead...!"

The militants' cars peeled after the police cruiser as fast as they could...nobody noticing the bald-headed and bald-butted bear cresting the hill and glaring down at the vehicles. With a growl, the bear galloped down the slope. It had to make the humans pay for violating its space, and the tire tracks at least meant it could follow them at a leisurely pace...

* * *

"Over here, Simmons, hands over your head, and kneel down!" the leader of the fake Secret Service agents angrily ordered the president, gesturing with his gun. "Same with you, Mohammed!" he shouted at the emir.

"My name is Zaid, Zaid bin Saad al-Sabah!" the emir said furiously.

"Whatever. Down on your knees, you cockroach!" the militant bellowed, gesturing again with his gun.

"A man of my status does not prostrate himself to someone like you...!"

"Sir," Simmons spoke up, taking deep and fearful breaths, "If I do what you ask, will you let him and my family go?" he shot a glance back at his wife and daughter.

"Matthew, what are you saying!? Don't give yourself up to him...!" Mrs. Simmons pleaded.

"Shut up, you treasonous hag!" another fake agent shouted coldly at her, aiming his gun at her. "You and the girl get back to the center of the stage; Abel, try and light the explosives by hand!" he ordered another colleague.

"No, come on, let them off...!" the president protested. The first militant abruptly grabbed him and threw him roughly to the stage. "Keep everyone else off the stage!" he shouted to the other militants, who had their guns trained on the stunned crowd. "You know what you are, Simmons!?" he shouted at the leader of the free world, then broke into a hateful, obscene tirade that culminated with him slugging Simmons hard. "Well, it's time you pay for your treason; it's time America's free again!"

He cocked his rifle. "NO!" a horrified Natalie screamed, trying to push past the militant forcing her and her mother back towards the middle of the stage without success. The gunman paid no heed, jamming his gun against her father's head and reaching for the trigger...

...when suddenly, a folding chair sailed through the air and nailed him on the head. He groaned and staggered, giving the president time to roll away. The gunman shook himself off and tried to take aim again, but before he could, Bender jumped on the stage and plowed into him, knocking him down and sending the gun sliding out of his hands. The criminal grabbed the chair and started bashing the man with it. Behind them, Cameron also rushed the stage while the militants' attention was distracted and leaped on top of Natalie and her mother, pinning them protectively to the ground. Shots started ringing out as the actual Secret Service agents in the crowd opened fire on the militants, forcing their way down to the stage and ultimately pinning the gunmen against the back wall. Surrounded and with their numbers now diminished, the militants reluctantly threw down their weapons. "You all right, Mr. President!?" one of the agents helped Simmons to his feet.

"I am now, thankfully," the president rushed to his wife and daughter, still covered by Cameron. "Nancy, Natalie...!"

"Matthew!" his wife crawled out from under Cameron and hugged him, "How did this happen...!?"

"I don't know, but thank god you're both all right. Honey, it's all right," Simmons gently pulled his daughter out from under Cameron and hugged her as well.

"Dad, I was so scared for you!" Natalie whimpered, kissing him hard. "Cameron!" she turned back to him and hugged him as well, "How'd you know something was wrong!?"

"It's a long story, but I'm glad you're all right, Natalie," Cameron hugged her back. "John, John, it's all right, it's over," he shouted over to Bender, who was still slamming his chair down on the groaning militant leader with angry roars. "John, John, stop it, you've put him out of commission!" Cameron ran over and pulled the chair out of Bender's hands, "Are you all right!?"

"Of course I'm all right, Frye!" Bender bellowed, "It's just..." he glared down contemptuously at the militant beneath him, "He said all the things my old man says to put me down when he...when he decides to be rough with me before he tried to shoot Matty. I've had enough of taking that kind of talk from him, and I've vowed to take down anyone who says those things to anyone else, even Matty."

"Well John, it looks like I owe you a debt of gratitude," President Simmons walked over and shook Bender's hand, "It's because of your quick thinking that I'm still breathing right now."

"Say what?" Bender frowned in confusion.

"He said you saved him, John, hard as it may be to believe," Cameron spelled it out for him.

"What did I just do!?" Bender asked himself out loud, stunned, "Did I really just save Matty and some foreign leader? Am I sure I'm still John Bender!? Snap out of it!" he slapped himself repeatedly, then frowned, "I don't feel any different, but...did this really happen...!?"

"There goes one more!" came the abrupt shout from one of the legitimate agents. The militant that had gone under the stage had jumped out and taken off running towards the parking lot. The agents gave pursuit, but the man had a strong lead...

...but he made the mistake of running straight out into the road, right into the path of a red catering truck. A horn blared, but the truck still impacted with the militant, sending him flying into another car hard. Groaning he struggled to get up, but Aker leaped out of the truck in a flash and planted a foot on the man's chest before he could get up. "Abel Noonan, I presume?" he flashed the militant a wry smile, "Looks like it's back to life in jail for you."

"Freeze!" Secret Service agents swarmed Noonan, hauling him up and cuffing him. "Get the president and the emir to the safe house!" one of them shouted, "And somebody call an explosives expert to diffuse the stage and search for any more bombs!"

The agents ran around to handle the various assignments. It was into this scene of confusion that the parents climbed out of the back of Aker's truck, shivering from the cold. "Hey, what's going on out here!?" Mr. Clark hailed down a passing agent.

"Sir, do you have clearance to be here right now!?" one of the agents demanded to him.

"Their kids are here; they came up to look for them," Aker explained, glancing around nervously, "Are we too late...!?"

"There's John Bender right there; John!" Mr. Johnson recognized the criminal running off the stage and called to him. Bender spun in surprise, then rushed over. "What the hell are you all doing here?" he greeted the Club's families.

"John, where's my son!? Where's everyone else!?" Mr. Johnson grilled him worriedly.

"Right about now, probably setting up at the hotel to take out the rest of the guys that tried to do this," Bender gestured back at the stage, "I'm heading over there now..."

"What do you mean 'taking out the rest of those guys!?' What did you get my daughter into!?" a pale Mrs. Reynolds demanded.

"Look, no time to explain; I've got to get over there myself. I've got some payback to give-where are you going, Frye!?" Bender shouted at Cameron, who was rushing past him the opposite direction.

"With the president to the safe house; Natalie insisted I come with her," Cameron explained breathlessly.

"You really do care for her, don't you, Frye?"

"Yeah, I do. Maybe, John, when you get back to the hotel, if Claire's there, and if you feel something for her that is love...well, you know what I mean. And tell Ferris, in case he doesn't come out alive, thanks for everything. It's been an honor to have been his friend all these years," Cameron said solemnly, turning to follow the agents leading the Simmonses rapidly towards the presidential limousine. "You," Bender grabbed hold of another passing agent's sleeve, "Once you get all this sorted out, you'll find the people behind this assassination attempt at the Great Whitecap. Send everything you've got to take them down; they're dangerous men."

"How do you know...hey, come back here!" the agent shouted as Bender took off running in the direction of the hotel. "Folks, I'm afraid you'll have to stay here until we get an all clear," he blocked the parents when they attempted to follow the criminal.

"But our children could be in trouble...!" Mrs. Clark desperately protested.

"We'll send over people to check out that boy's claims once we diffuse all the dynamite that might be here, I promise. Wait right here, and we'll let you know when it's clear..."

* * *

"I can hear you coming," Ferris told Jeremy over his cell phone, hearing the police car's siren getting louder in the woods around the hotel, as well as the gunshots ringing out, from his perch atop the hotel roof. "You all right?"

"So far, yes. You sure you don't need any more help?"

"I think we're good right now, and I'd hate to put more people than necessary in direct harm's way with this. Stay close after you get here, though, in case we do. Wally got another update before he cleared out the hotel; the phones are less than five minutes from going back up. You and the others find a place to stake out on the property, and keep an eye on your phones; the instant you get service again, call the police and Secret Service, then direct them here when they do show up. We've done what we can in here, but both Kevin and I would feel more comfortable getting the law here quick."

"Right, got it, Ferris. All right, I'll hang up now and..." Jeremy started to say.

"Before you do," Ferris cut him off, his gaze focusing on Allison watching for the villains to arrive in the corner, "Melissa's with you, right?"

"Yeah, she is," Jeremy confirmed it for him.

"Put her on," Ferris bustled over to Allison. "I think you'll want to take this call," he told her, handing her the phone. Allison's face lit up in delight at the voice on the other end. "Are you all right now, Melissa!?" she asked, relieved.

"I am now," Melissa's voice crackled on the other end, "How about you?"

"Much better now that I know you're all right," the brunette sniffed tears of joy, "I'm so sorry, Melissa; I didn't mean anything I said last night. I've just felt so horrible that I got that mad..."

"I've felt horrible too. I like you as a friend so much, Allison. You're no failure at all; you have a very bright future ahead of you," Melissa was sniffing in relief herself, "I'm sorry I lost my temper as well. Can we still be...?"

"Of course we're still friends. Having you as a friend has been a wonderful honor," Allison gushed in delight, "And I'd love to...oh, I see you coming," she noticed the police car roaring out of the woods, "Find a good safe place to hide and get the cops here for the rest of us."

"I'm glad I'll be doing that for this; I'm not sure I'd have it in myself to hit these guys with booby traps, even after everything they did to us," Melissa confessed, "Well, good luck on your end. Please stay safe, Allison."

"I will. You too," the brunette hung up and handed the phone back to Ferris. "So, what do you think?" she approached Kevin, who was frowning at the militants' cars streaming out of the woods.

"About sixty-five to seventy percent sure we can pull it off right now, not quite where I'd want to be," Kevin mused softly, "At least since I haven't done this to them before, we have the element of surprise. But again, I'm not sure we were able to get enough traps up in time. And like I said, there's a lot more of them than I usually have to face down, and they're clearly not as stupid as the other bad guys..."

"We've got to try, Kevin," Andrew put a hand on the younger boy's shoulder, "These people need to be stopped for everything they've done. And we trust you after knowing you've done this before. Actually, ever since Julian got to do it in Las Vegas with you last year, I've wanted to try this myself. And it looks like the moment's at hand."

"Oh, not to get you any more worried, but before we start, want to tell you: I spoke with Julian earlier, and your parents know you're here," Kevin told him, making the older boy turn pale, "They saw you on TV, and they're on their way up now, so if these guys don't kill us, they might."

"Uh..." Andrew stammered, "Nobody would see me on TV, Ferris!?" he rounded on his classmate.

"Well...I guess I misjudged that," Ferris conceded, "But don't worry: if they get in your face about it, I'll take the blame for it. This was my idea after all."

"I'll hold you to that," Andrew gulped at the sight of the militants jumping out of their cars below them. "Well, guess this is it. Ready?" he took Allison's hands.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she took a deep breath, "At least if this doesn't work, we'll go out together."

"Yeah, I know," he gave her a final good luck kiss. The two of them took hold of ropes that reached down towards a trio of boats tied up at the docks below, the engines of which were running. "Where the hell'd they go!?" Moose was shouting out loud in front of the hotel.

"Spread out and find them; they must be around here somewhere!" O'Donoghue roared, "And when you see them, shoot them till they're Swiss cheese!"

"We can't have that now," Ferris hunched down low and looked over the right side of the roof. He could see Jeremy, Claire, Brian, and Melissa safely lodged deep in the bushes by the tree line. "Good. Now let's keep them safe," he nodded to Kevin, who picked up a brick from a pile near the edge and leaned over the side. "Ready...ready...and...now!" he whispered to Kevin, who casually tossed the brick over the side. "Hey Mr. Rooney, we're up here!" Ferris called down to his long time antagonist. Rooney looked up towards the sound of Ferris's voice a split second before the falling brick smashed hard into his face. Howling, the former principal stumbled backwards, clutching his face hard. "BUELLER!" he roared in shock and rage, "Why the hell aren't you dead!?"

"Hit it!" Ferris instructed Andrew and Allison, who pulled their ropes. This released large metal storage boxes onto the gas pedals of the boats at the dock. The boats started zooming out into the lake, and a group of about eight militants standing closest to the dock did not see that they were standing in the middle of three large loops of ropes attached to each boat. The ropes quickly tightened around their ankles and jerked them off their feet, dragging them screaming at the top of their lungs down the dock and off the end into the lake. "Don't just stand there, Mr. Wonka, do something!" Ferris shouted mockingly out towards the disappearing boats, then quickly spun to Sloane, standing behind him, and extended his arm towards her. "Help. Police. Murder," Sloane finished the quote, fighting to keep a straight face. "Watch out for those buoys; they're solid steel," she shouted out to the rapidly disappearing radicals.

"OOOOOWWWW! OOOOO! OOOWWW! OOOOOO!" the militants screamed as they slammed hard into each successive buoy. "Up there, they're up there! Shoot them!" O'Donoghue bellowed, pointing at the roof. The hotel's defenders hit the ground as the bullets started flying. After about a minute's barrage, O'Donoghue shouted, "Seize the hotel, butcher them all!"

"Here we go," Ferris nodded to the others. They each grabbed a brick and flung them over the side blindly. A few bangs and yelps hinted that some of the bricks had hit their marks. "Show time," Ferris crawled towards the stairs, "Time to give these guys a lesson they won't forget-and one I hope you folks aren't tired of seeing play out already," he looked over his shoulder.

* * *

"Ready, aim, fire!" O'Donoghue shouted at his men by the front door. They peppered the lobby with a major barrage of bullets and a few grenades that exploded with loud bangs inside. "Squad A, charge!" he ordered one group of men. The militants rushed into the hotel...in the process stumbling over a tripwire that released several barbells from the exercise room that had been rigged over the door. The barbells crashed down on the men's heads in a matter of seconds, making them groan and fall flat on their faces to the floor. "What the hell!? Next wave, go!" O'Donoghue ordered his next set of men. They charged into the lobby and leaped over their colleagues-themselves then stumbling over a second tripwire that released several one hundred pound weights from the exercise room that conked them just as hard on their own heads. They too fell flat to the floor, groaning. "What's going on here!? Moose, you take the next squad in, and do it right!" O'Donoghue demanded to his main adjutant. Moose barreled through the door with about six more men. Four of them stepped into snare traps set up around the lobby and were jerked high in the air by their feet. Moose skidded to a stop at the sound of their cries...

..but not in time to avoid setting off a third tripwire, this one dropping heavy potted plants onto his and his remaining colleagues' heads as well. They too crumpled to the floor. "Ah, damn it! You two, get in there!" O'Donoghue ordered Vernon and Rooney.

"What happened to doing it yourself if you want it done right?" Rooney raised an eyebrow.

"I said get!" the militia roared, cocking his rifle. The former educators hesitantly entered the hotel, waving their own rifles around. "All right, Ferris, I know you're in here!" Rooney shouted, stepping over the groaning radicals, "I don't know why you can't stay dead, but this time, I am going to kill you! Now is this going to be easy, or is this going to be hard!?"

"Hey guys," came an unfamiliar call from across the lobby. Both men turned to see Kevin crouching behind a luggage rack by the door to the stairs. "I guess the answer'll have to be, it's going to be hard," the boy smiled mischievously.

He broke open the two scuba tanks attached to the luggage rack. With a shriek of escaping air, the rack shot across the lobby, slamming into Vernon and Rooney and sending them flying down the hall and through the glass window surrounding the hotel pool. They shot over the pool and slammed hard into the far wall, then fell backwards into the water with a mighty splash. "YES! Yes, yes, yes!" Kevin pumped his fist excitedly.

"I like that," a smiling Ferris jumped up from behind the main counter, "Let me try that. Yes, yes, yes!" he pumped his fist in the air and ran around in delight, "Yeah, I really like that."

"I'LL GET YOU FOR THAT, YOU LITTLE PIPSQUEAK!" came Rooney's angry shout from the pool. "Split up; I'll lead them into the back rooms with the others; you lead them towards the stairs," Ferris told Kevin.

"Got it," Kevin ran for the door to the stairs, while Ferris ducked inside the door behind the counter. Sopping wet, Vernon and Rooney staggered back into the lobby at the same time O'Donoghue entered the building with the rest of his men. "Get up!" the latter angrily kicked his men back to their feet, "Which way'd they go!?" he demanded to the two former teachers.

"It sounded like they split up. Richard, you go back behind the front desk; you guys, come with me and see if they went upstairs!" Rooney waved at Moose and several other men. He ran towards the stairs, grabbed the doorknob, and pulled it...

...only to have it come off in his hand, at which point a loud banging sound rang out. Rooney stared at the rope attached to the knob in surprise, and looked up right as a falling vending machine crashed hard into the door and smashed it down on top of him and the other militants. "Obviously, we're not dealing with an ordinary kid here," the former principal moaned in agony underneath it.

Meanwhile, Vernon threaded his way down the backstage hall. "They've got to be around here somewhere...!" he muttered out loud. "If you can hear me, surrender now, and maybe I'll go easy on you!" he shouted.

"If you don't, it's going to be a horrifying bloodbath!" O'Donoghue threatened out loud. "Spread out, men, search every room!" he ordered his troops, who started throwing open doors all along the hall.

Just then, a familiar voice did ring out from behind a door up the hall: "Hey Mr. Vernon, you looking for us?" Vernon's eyes shot open wide. "Clark!? But we buried him alive...!" he gasped.

"Well this time, let's make sure he's dead, you nitwit!" O'Donoghue cocked his rifle and fired a major barrage through the door in question. He then kicked the door open and charged into the room...

...which proved to be a major mistake, as this triggered the blowtorch rigged over the door, sending a large burst of flame towards O'Donoghue's head. At the same time, a second blowtorch in the hall also ignited, setting Vernon's rear end on fire. Both men screamed in agony and took off running, Vernon going back up the hall and O'Donoghue turning down the hall the other way. Andrew stuck his head out of the closet he'd been hiding in with Allison and Ferris. "What more can we say?" he said with a wide grin, "Mr. Vernon can climb the highest mountain..."

"...cross the wildest sea..." Allison grinned herself.

"He can feel St. Elmo's Fire burning all over himself," Ferris concluded, making all three of them break into laughter. They then rushed to the window in the room, which overlooked the pool, and applauded Vernon as the former superintendent frantically dove into it rear first to extinguish the flames. "I love it when a plan comes together," Ferris mimicked Hannibal Smith. "All right, you two head upstairs on the back staircase," he told his companions, "I've got something else to take care of with the other guy."

He ran down the hall after O'Donoghue, who was frantically throwing open doors to find something to extinguish the flames burning on his head. Finally, he caught sight of the staff bathroom and rushed into it. "We attached metal plates to the toilet on the end," Ferris smiled innocently over his shoulder, bending down next to a large generator set up outside the bathroom, having been unnoticed by O'Donoghue in his terror, its cables snaking into the bathroom, "We figured he'd go for that one first. And so," he switched the generator on and turned the electricity all the way up, "When he tries to put the flames out, it's just going to get worse for him."

A loud buzzing sound and an equally loud scream rang out in the bathroom. Nodding, Ferris rose up and walked inside. Suspended due vertical over the end toilet in a row of stalls, O'Donoghue shrieked at the top of his lungs as he was violently electrocuted, smoke pouring from every opening on his head and the flames atop his scalp growing exponentially longer by the second. "And now, let me get safely out of the way," Ferris dove into the stall on the other end of the row a few seconds before O'Donoghue released his grip, causing his head to finally fall into the toilet...which in turn triggered a colossal explosion from the gasoline that had been poured into it, an explosion that send O'Donoghue cartwheeling wildly through the air backwards into the bathroom door, impacting with it so hard that it cracked off its hinges and toppled backwards into the hall, taking the militia leader with it. "I guess he really got a bang out of that one," Kevin rushed up the hall, chuckling.

"He sure did," Ferris exited the bathroom, chuckling himself. "You're really creative with these traps, you know," he commended Kevin, "Are you sure your middle name's not Jigsaw?"

"Huh?"

"Well, you'll understand when you're older. Anyway, let's go upstairs and help the others with what we've got there."

* * *

"I've got bars; phones are back up!" Claire declared from the bushes outside the hotel, seeing the icon reappear on her cell phone. "Call the cops!" she instructed Jeremy, who started dialing his own phone. "You two get to the checkpoint; direct them here when they come in," she told Brian and Melissa.

"And what about you?" Brian asked her, concerned.

"I'll be here with Jeremy watching the front door. If you see or hear an S.O.S., join back up with us," she told him. Both brains hesitantly left the bushes and ran across the beach. "You heard those bangs inside?" Claire asked Jeremy as he finished his call to the police.

"Yeah," he nodded, "That must mean their plan's working so far."

"So far," Claire took a nervous breath, "And hopefully it'll keep working until the police do get here..."

* * *

"What happened to you, Richard?" Rooney asked his former superior, who was storming back into the lobby with his hands covering his rear end.

"Don't ask, Ed, just don't ask!" Vernon snarled, "Those brats apparently aren't as dead as we'd hoped!"

"Tell me about it! Come on, let's check the upper floors!" Rooney ran towards the stairs, his former superior right behind him. "Chased Ferris all over Chicago on his little day off, chased him around the D.C. freeways, chased him all over this lake, and still I can't put him out of his misery!" he muttered under his breath, "He's a demon, that's what he is; he's...!"

"He's right there, Ed!" Vernon pointed to the door to the third floor, which Ferris was waving at them from. Roaring, Rooney took aim at his nemesis and fired several shots at him, but Ferris moved back quickly out of sight. Both men ran for the door and threw it open. "Hi guys. Having fun yet?" Ferris called merrily to them from down the hall. He ducked shots from both former educators and slipped into a room on the right side of the hall. Vernon and Rooney ran down to it, and Rooney kicked the door open...

...pulling the pins on a pair of fire extinguishers rigged on the other side, which sent a wide blast of extinguisher fluid square into both men's faces. "STOOOOOOOP, at a Whammy!" Ferris couldn't resist calling out from inside the room, grinning at the men stumbling back into the hall, wiping at their faces blindly. He ran to the door and waved up the hall to Sloane, who broke open two more air tanks that had been attached to a wheelchair. The chair rocketed down the hall in a flash, knocking the two former educators over into it and carrying them along at near warp speed until it sailed down into the open elevator shaft. Vernon and Rooney screamed at the top of their lungs all the way down to the basement. "Better watch that first step; you'll really feel it, guys," Ferris ran over to the shaft and called down.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!" came the men's agonized shouts upon impact below. "I want money, I want money! I want money; cash! HUP! HUP!" Ferris rambled out the Cyndi Lauper Whammy's dialogue, moonwalking backwards in front of the elevator.

"Did it work?" Sloane ran up.

"Yep, it worked. The pots of cacti we set up at the bottom gave them a landing they'll never forget," Ferris high-fived her, "I'm starting to wish we could have done this with Kevin the last couple of Christmases..."

"More company coming!" Sloane pointed to O'Donoghue and Moose kicking the door to the stairs open down the hall. The latter fired a rocket at them that zoomed over their heads, blasting a large hole in the elevator shaft. "Not even close!" Ferris taunted him, sticking his tongue out at the militants. He and Sloane ran quickly around the corner. "Tear them limb from limb, Moose!" O'Donoghue ordered his underling. The two of them rushed down the hall and around the corner. They did not notice, however, the moth balls spread all over the floor there. Both men slipped on them and fell hard on their backs. Moose's foot, meanwhile, knocked loose the rope holding one end of a canoe tied over the hall in place. O'Donoghue had just enough time to look up and cry out before the falling end of the canoe slammed down hard on his balls, making him scream in agony. Adding more injury to injury, the bowling balls that had been stacked in the other end of the canoe rapidly rolled down and smacked hard off the militia leader's face one by one. "You all right, Captain?" Moose asked him worriedly.

"NO I'M NOT ALL RIGHT, MOOSE!" O'Donoghue screamed in a helium voice, "GET THIS THING OFF ME!"

* * *

"That did it for good, Ferris!" Rooney roared, shoving open the elevator door in the basement, "Now Edward R. Rooney's REALLY mad!"

"As is Richard P. Vernon!" his colleague added furiously, "Let's cut them off in a squeeze play, Ed," he suggested, grabbing for his gun, "You go up the east stairs, I'll go up the west. We'll cut them off and close the pincer on them."

He took off running across the basement. Rooney in turn kicked open the east stairwell and stormed up the steps three at a time. "Probably moved on to another floor-try the fourth next," he muttered under his breath. He reached the fourth floor and shoved the door open. "I know you're here, Ferris!" he shouted, waving his gun around, "Come on out and fight me like a man!"

"What about me, Mr. Rooney? I certainly don't fight like a man," came Sloane's voice from up the hall.

"PETERSEN YOU SLUT!" Rooney yelled, charging down the hall as fast as he could. He fired at a door swinging shut on the left side around the corner, then grabbed the knob and threw it open...

...finding himself face to face not with Sloane, but with an angry, growling Wormer. "Hi doggie," Rooney gulped fearfully, stepping back towards the hall "Please sit still for Uncle Ed...!"

With a murderous growl, Wormer lunged towards him. "No, no, sit! Stay! Heel! Halt! Back! STAY!" Rooney shrieked, running for his life from the dog. "Richard, you handle this!" he saw Vernon coming around the corner and shoved his former superior into Wormer's path. Before Vernon had an idea what had happened, Wormer leaped on top of him and started snapping and chewing away. Rooney, meanwhile, barely made it around the next corner before he slipped on a greased-up section of floor and hydroplaned down the hall at high speed, sailing down another open elevator shaft and landing with a splat in a bathtub filled with industrial tar. Above him, Vernon, now torn up from Wormer, also slipped while running away from the dog and slid down the shaft himself. Sloane stuck her head out of the room on the right side of the hall across from where Wormer had been stashed. "Two in the side pocket," she chuckled to herself, bustling down the hall in the opposite direction. Kevin and Andrew were coming up the stairs to the fourth floor landing. "How's it going?" the younger boy asked her.

"I haven't had this much fun since Ferris's spring day off," Sloane leaned down to his level with a grin.

"Well, as long as nobody other than these guys get hurt," Kevin rationalized. He hefted a large tarantula and tied the string of the fishing pole Andrew was carrying around it. "Good thing this was in the nature garden," he mused, "The first time I tried this kind of warfare, Andy, my oldest brother's pet spider came in handy in the clutch; the tall Bad Guy never screamed harder than when I put Axel on his face."

"I'll bet," Andrew laughed, "Anyone probably would facing off with a giant spider."

He glanced down at the door banging open below them. "And now we'll see if it does the same with other people," he whispered, hefting the fishing pole over the side. "...hit you with trunks!?" an incredulous O'Donoghue was yelling into his radio on the landing below, his face turned away from his enemies' direction, "These are kids, damn it; you shouldn't be having this much trouble with a bunch of smart aleck kids! What the hell is going on here, you guys!?"

"How about this, for example?" covering his mouth to keep from laughing, Andrew lowered the spider down towards Moose, who was standing behind his boss and not looking back either. In thirty seconds, it touched down in the middle of Moose's face. The militant's eyes widened, and then...

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK!" the scream exploded from inside Moose like steam leaving a geyser. He rapidly turned his rifle around and reared back for a blow, but just as he swung, Andrew pulled the tarantula away, making Moose smash himself hard in the face. It was only then that O'Donoghue turned around. "What are you doing, Moose!?" he demanded, not feeling the tarantula being lowered onto his own head, "I expect professional behavior from someone like you who...why are you looking at me like that!?"

"Captain, don't move!" a terrified Moose whimpered, his eyes locked in on the tarantula.

"Moose, don't look at me like...!" O'Donoghue started to warn him, but did not get the chance to finish, as Moose abruptly grabbed him, pulled his boss's head back and slammed it as hard he could into the wall-but again, Andrew pulled the spider away at the last minute, leaving O'Donoghue to take the full impact of the blow. "Did I get him!?" Moose looked around in a panic.

"Moof you imbifile!" an enraged O'Donoghue bellowed, spitting his now knocked out two front teeth into his hands. "Uh oh!" Moose gulped, "There was a really big spider on you, Captain, I swear...!"

"I'm gonna tear your lungf out you ftupid fithead!" O'Donoghue angrily started strangling Moose. Above them, their opponents, breaking into laughter at the villains' melee, jumped in surprise as the door opened behind them-but it was only Allison, clutching several paint cans. "How's it going?" she asked.

"Quite well," smiling, Andrew pointed down to O'Donoghue literally kicking Moose's butt in a blind fury.

"Good. I took out a couple of them on the other side as well," Allison informed them, "Ran into Ferris; he said to head for the roof and get ready for the last few traps."

"If we had more time, I could have set a couple more," Kevin lamented wistfully.

"What we've got now's great, Kev," she commended him, "I just hope the cops do get here soon..."

* * *

"I can't believe this!" Rooney bellowed, rolling out of the tub onto the old pillows stationed around it. They broke open on impact, the feathers inside rapidly sticking to the tar covering him now from head to toe. "This has to be the worst experience in all my years of teaching, and given what Ferris has put me through, that's saying something!"

"I've just about had it!" Vernon groaned, also stumbling into the feathers and ending up looking like an overgrown chicken, "We've got to get them out in the open and butcher them; we're only sitting ducks running after them in here like we've been doing!"

"Then what are we waiting for!?" Rooney pulled open the shaft's door, "This time we'll come up on them from behind! They probably moved on up to the top floor now, but instead of going straight up, let's circle around to the west side and down the fourth floor hall!"

He took off across the basement before Vernon could lodge any protests. The former superintendent nonetheless raced after him, and in no time they had reached the fourth floor and run the length of the hall to the other stairwell. "Hold it," Vernon held Rooney back when the latter reached for the knob. He cautiously kicked the door open and stepped back. A set of large potted plants crashed down on the other side of the door. "There, diffused," he nodded at the former principal, cocking his rifle, "All right, now let's fill them full of holes...!"

He and Rooney rushed through the door-and were immediately walloped by the hotel's very large Christmas tree, which had also been rigged up behind the door. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, CHARLIE BROWN!" their former students called down mockingly from the top floor.

"They're up on the top floor!" shouted O'Donoghue's voice from below. "Get them, men!" he shouted to his command. The stomping of at least fifteen pairs of boots raced up the stairs. "Uh oh, they must have all come together down there!" Sloane gulped nervously from the top floor's landing.

"Luckily, we're prepared for large numbers," Kevin hefted a pair of paint cans, "Everyone take two; if Ferris was on the level with Allison, we just need to knock them down to the next floor."

"That is, IF he was able to rig it up right there," Allison shifted about nervously, taking two of the cans.

"Trust Ferris," Sloane assured her, raising her cans high. "Tell us when, Kevin," she asked the younger boy.

"Ready...and...full salvo!" Kevin gave the order. They all threw down their paint cans, which quickly slammed into the men's faces right as they reached the spot below the landing and sending them toppling head over heels down the stairs, bowling over the others behind them. "You guys are doing SUCH a wonderful job for big, patriotic Americans," Vernon muttered sarcastically, crawling with Rooney out from under the Christmas tree.

"Fut your damn mouf!" O'Donoghue bellowed at him, rubbing his head, "Thif waf not fuppofed to be the way this miffion went!"

"Never mind that, where's Ferris!?" Rooney demanded. He then immediately got his answer as the door opened behind him. "Evening, Mr. Rooney. See you next 'fall,'" Ferris said mockingly, tossing a large pipe on strings forward. The pipe impacted hard with Rooney's face, as well as those of the other men, and sent them toppling over the railing and falling back down to the first floor once more, screaming at the top of their lungs all the way down. "And...!" Ferris raised his arm high and jerked it down at the moment a loud splat rang out below, signaling the men had landed in the paint-filled bathtub set up at the bottom of the stairwell. "YES!" Ferris pumped his fist hard in victory. "Coup de grace!" he shouted up at everyone else, who pulled ropes to release a ton of bricks rigged under the top landing to fall down on the men. Loud bangs and screams rang out below. "Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Kevin celebrated as well.

"Yep, I like your style, little guy," Ferris ran up to the top floor. "OK, you two go take off and join the others," he instructed Allison and Andrew, "Sloane, Kevin, and I'll handle the last trap on the roof."

"You sure about this, Ferris?" Andrew frowned.

"Trust me; they're good and softened up now, and the cops should be no more than three minutes away from here anyway. We're practically home free."

* * *

"This is ridiculouf!" an outraged O'Donoghue roared, stumbling out of the tub with his men, now covered completely with paint of every possible color, "This waf fuppofed to be a fimple and eafy miffion, not a kindergarten from hell! Look at thif!" he gestured with contempt at his ruined uniform, "Worn this fince I entered the fervice, never any damage until now! Fomebody's got to pay for thif! Moof, gun pleaf," he extended his hand to his primary adjutant. Moose obligingly handed over his rifle. "Fank you," O'Donoghue cocked it, took aim at Moose's head, and blew his top aide away. "And the fame'll happen to any of the reft of you if you fcrew up as badly af you have fo far!" he warned his remaining men. "If you...where are you going!?" he shouted at Vernon, who was rushing for the door out of the stairwell.

"Just, uh, thinking I can cut them off around the back; they might be headed for the fire escape to get out of here," Vernon shouted quickly, slamming the door shut behind him before the militia leader could lodge a complaint. "I'm with Richard; instead of running through this funhouse any longer, let's go out the front door and encircle them if they do come down," Rooney spoke up quickly, "Come on, follow me."

* * *

"Got to get out of here, the cops are bound to be here real soon!" Vernon muttered out loud to himself, racing down the hall towards the emergency exit door, "I'll take a life on the run over life in jail! Got to find the quickest way to Canada from here!"

He threw the exit door open, ignoring the alarm sounding from this action, and started to sprint across the hotel's rear lawn...

...when suddenly, a figure slammed hard into him from the side, sending him toppling to the ground and his gun flying out of his hands. "Running like a coward, huh Dick!?" an enraged Bender hauled him to his feet, "Well I'm not done with you yet!"

"John, you're not dead!?" Vernon gasped.

"Not by a mile, Dick, but you're going to be when I'm finished!" his former student shouted angrily at him.

"Wait, let's talk this over...!" Vernon tried to plead, only to be thrown hard against the side of the hotel. "Not so tough now when you're not fighting a girl, are you, Dick!?" Bender decked his longtime nemesis hard, breaking Vernon's nose with a loud crack, "You don't have what it takes to fight me like a man; you're just a coward when it counts the most, aren't you!?"

"John, please...!" Vernon waved his arms desperately. Bender instead kicked him hard in the chest. "That's for what you did to her, Dick! And so is this!" he kicked the former superintendent just as hard in the balls, making him scream in a high soprano. "And this is for treating me like trash in every detention!" he punched Vernon three times straight in the chest as hard as he could, "And this is for being just as mean to the others that day!" he decked Vernon in the face hard again, sending up another shower of blood, "And this is for trying to kill me, trying to kill my friends, and joining with the people who wanted to kill Matty!"

He delivered one final kick to Vernon's chest. Gasping for air and coughing up blood, Vernon collapsed to his knees. "Come on, Dick, you wanted to take me down all this time, give me your best shot!" Bender ordered him, gesturing for Vernon to hit him, "Come on, be a man, Dick, I know you've wanted to do this all these years! Give me your best right hook! Or are you just a coward through and through!"

Still gasping and coughing, Vernon squirmed backwards away from Bender, his eyes wide in fear now. "Nothing!? Well then, I guess you are a coward to the bone!" Bender muttered, "I guess I should just put you out of your misery, then!"

He grabbed hold of Vernon's dropped rifle, shoved the former superintendent upright against the wall, and pointed the gun right into Vernon's forehead. "No, John, don't!" Vernon begged, terrified, "I'll give you anything...!"

"You think I want anything from you, Dick!? You've abused me and everyone else at Shermer High for too long; now, the children you spat on are spitting back whether you like it or not! You're worthless, Dick, and the world won't care whether you're alive or dead! Time to say goodbye...!" Bender reached for the trigger.

"No, John, please...!" Vernon stammered, white with terror.

"Bender, no!" came Claire's sudden shout. She rushed around the corner of the hotel, skidding to a stop next to the criminal. "Bender, don't do it!" she begged him, "Please don't stoop to his level!"

"He has to pay for what he did to you, and he's going to pay...in blood!" Bender bellowed, his finger still on the trigger.

"Bender, please!" horrified, Claire ran forward, grabbed hold of the gun barrel, and shoved it skyward, "John, please, listen to me; that's what he wants you to do," she gestured at the wide-eyed Vernon, "He wants you to shoot him, to prove him right that you're a menace! You shoot him, you make him the hero, and you prove you're no different from your father! Is that what you want!?"

"He beat you to an inch of your life; he can't be allowed get away with it...but how'd you heal up so quickly?" Bender frowned at her now normal condition.

"It's a long story, but I'll explain later. John, please," Claire pulled his right hand away from the gun and clenched it hard, "You're better than that, I've seen that you are! He will pay; he's going to jail for the rest of his life or to an execution chamber for everything he's done. Don't become him, please! For me, put the gun down, and let's just turn him in," she begged.

"So...you're not giving up on me?" he asked, his expression softening.

"Put the gun down, John, and I'll definitely consider giving you another chance," she told him with a pleading expression, "I'm begging you, don't become your father, and don't become Mr. Vernon...!"

Bender looked deep into her eyes. Then over at the still terrified Vernon. Then down at the gun. Then back to Claire. Then he tossed the gun to the ground. "Thank you, Bender; I knew you wouldn't go that low," Claire commended him, taking both his hands.

"I guess...I guess this is the part where I say I'm sorry. So, then, I am: I'm...I'm sorry if I caused you any grief or pain this week," Bender confessed to her, "No matter...no matter how low our valleys can get, Cherry, there's always something about you that keeps pulling me back. So you must be special."

"Well, OK then, you both can go bond together, even though I think the two of you are disgusting as a couple. I'll just head on out of here and not bother you again..." Vernon turned to leave.

"You're not going anywhere, Mr. Vernon!" came Andrew's harsh shout. He and Allison were storming down the fire escape, while to their left, Brian was running over as well, winded. All three were glaring furiously at Vernon. "You're going to jail for what you did to Claire, and for what you almost did to the rest of us!" the wrestler told the former detention master coldly, "So you're staying right here until the law does show up!"

"Guys, guys, let's be reasonable here!" Vernon stammered, stumbling backwards away from the quintet, "I...I...I didn't mean...!"

"Didn't mean to try and kill us!?" Allison shouted, "Didn't mean to throw your lot in with those psychopaths!? Didn't mean to abuse us all verbally and even physically in detention!? Well guess what, Mr. Vernon, we're not buying what you're selling anymore, because we have no reason to believe you!"

"Look, it's not my fault!" the former detention overlord protested as his former students angrily forced him back against the hotel wall, "Those radicals threatened to kill me if I didn't go along with them...Mr. Rooney forced me to go along with him in the first place...I wanted to leave half a dozen times...!"

"But the point is, you didn't!" Brian pushed past the others, looking furious, "You had every chance to back out of this, Richard, but you just kept going until you did spill our blood! And that's something we can't forgive!"

"All right, Johnson! Lay it on him!" Bender cheered him on.

"Shut up!" Vernon shouted at him. "How dare you talk to me that disrespectfully, Johnson!" he turned furiously to Brian, "You of all people should know better than to...!"

"No, you shut up, _Richard_!" Brian grabbed him by the collar, "For once in your whole life, just shut the damn hell up!" He took a deep breath, then snarled at Vernon, "Do you remember what we wrote on the paper you asked us to write in that detention? We admitted that what each of us had done was wrong in its own way. And we were right to admit it. But as for you, you clearly can't take responsibility for anything. You've made it clear by trying to deflect blame in every direction you can that you have no sense of guilt for anything. It's always someone else's fault to you, you hypocrite."

He glared Vernon down. "I respected you so much," he muttered in disgust, "It takes an awful lot for a person to lose my respect, especially if they're a teacher. But you went and did it, Richard. I could take being demeaned and verbally abused in detention, and I could even take being shoved and having you basically scream in my face that you wanted me to commit suicide at the Simmons competition. But attacking one of my friends and almost beating her to death," he gave Claire a brief look, "and standing by and letting the girl I love be almost killed was a bridge too far. I have no respect for you anymore, Richard. You're pure filth. And deep down, you know you are, don't you? You know perfectly well that you're worthless and a failure as a human being, right?"

Vernon's mouth hung open, but no sound came out. Finally, he stammered, "It...It wasn't me who attacked your girl, Johnson, I swear; it was that guy...!"

"Yeah, I know, but Claire made it clear to me that you were in position to see him beating Melissa, and you did absolutely nothing to stop him. That makes you just as guilty as if you'd thrown the blows. And nothing you say or do will change that, Richard. And you can rot in Hell for hurting the most important person in my life," Brian spat contemptuously at Vernon's feet, then shoved him hard against the wall, leaving Vernon with a stunned expression that the brain, of all people, was being so rough with him. "You hear that, Richard?" Brian held up his hand at the sound of police sirens wailing in the distance, "That's the sound of the beginning of _your_ detention-your permanent detention. You could have been somebody-it's a real gift to be a successful teacher-but you abused your position over and over again because you loved to wield the power more than anything. And now, it's coming back to bite you right in the face for good. Got anything to say to that, Richard?"

For a moment, Vernon said nothing. Then his expression darkened and he lobbed a contemptuous f-bomb at Brian. "Hey, didn't anyone tell you about watching the language in front of the kids, Dick!?" Bender took his nemesis by the shirt, "I may have them add more time to your sentence for that."

"Go to Hell, you dog!" Vernon snarled at him, yanking himself out of the criminal's grasp. "All of you losers can burn in Hell!" he barked at all five of them, "You think you're so great, well you're all nothing, you hear me, nothing! And you always will be just big fat nothings! You've all got no future, no ...!"

"We said shut up, jackass!" Claire furiously slugged him hard in the face, sending up another shower blood from his broken nose. "Now hear this good, _Dick_!" it was her turn to grab him by the collar, "If we hear one more word out of you before the cops show up, we're going to...!"

"Guys," came Ferris's voice. Everyone turned to see him and Sloane coming down the fire escape. "So you got Mr. Vernon, good. Did you guys see Mr. Rooney?" Ferris asked them, concerned.

"What, he didn't go up to the roof?" Andrew's expression dropped.

"We were waiting up there, but no one came up the stairs for the final trap. Do you suppose he...?"

"FERRIS!" Sloane noticed the gun barrel coming around the corner and shoved her boyfriend to the ground seconds before the bullet was fired, zinging right past where Ferris's ear would have been. "Right here, Ferris!" looking crazed, Rooney rushed around the corner, as did O'Donoghue and the fifteen or so remaining members of his command, all brandishing their guns. Vernon used the confusion to jump away from the wall and grab hold of his own gun again. "Aha!" he snarled, taking aim at the seven former students, "Now look what all your cockiness got you cretins: nothing! Up against the wall!"

He grabbed Bender and threw him hard against the wall, while the other militants did the same with everyone else. "Don't stop shooting them until they're absolutely dead; I'm taking no chances this time!" he shouted to the other gunmen, who had lined up like an execution squad.

"No problem fere; after what we've been put frough, flaughtering fese damn kids'll be a pleafure. Ready!" an enraged O'Donoghue barked out the order to his men, who raised their guns into position, as did the two former educators, "Aim...Fire...!"


	20. Till We Meet Again

The men all pulled their triggers at the same time...but every single gun jammed and continued clicking no matter how many times they jiggled their weapons. "NOW what the hell's going on!?" an irate O'Donoghue roared, shaking his rifle wildly.

"Never mind, I don't need a gun to finish Ferris!" Rooney grabbed O'Donoghue's combat knife from its holster, then yanked Ferris forward. "Time to flunk out of life, Ferris!" he roared at the boy, placing the knife to his throat and preparing to slash..

...but was abruptly knocked down and pinned to the ground by an enraged Andrew. "Get the hell off me, Clark!" the former principal demanded, struggling to get out of the boy's grip.

"You're not hurting anyone, Mr. Rooney!" Andrew shouted, pulling the knife out of Rooney's hands and tossing it away, then turning the man over on his chest and applying hard pressure to his legs. Rooney howled in pain from the hold. "Let go of him right now, Clark, or you're dead too!" Vernon threatened, taking aim at him.

"With a gun that doesn't work, Mr. Vernon? And besides, you're not going to shoot anyway," Ferris's eyes shot back up to the roof, where Kevin stood at the edge, tearing open two large bags of birdseed that had been stashed up there. The younger boy quickly dumped the birdseed down on both former teachers. covering Vernon and Rooney from head to toe. "What the hell...!?" the latter shouted, but anything else he might have said was cut off by a thunderous roar as seemingly thousands of birds took flight from the trees nearby, all of them zoning in on the former educators. ""OOOOOOOOHHHH NOOOOOOOOO!" their screams echoed loudly across the entire lake. Rooney aimed at the oncoming flock and tried to fire on the birds, but his gun was still jammed. Panicked, he tossed the rifle at the birds and turned to run-but only managed to bump into Vernon, who'd been frozen in place in terror at the sight of what was coming at him. Both men tumbled to the ground hard. Seconds later, the birds descended on them and started eating away at the seed. Vernon and Rooney's screams of carnal terror rang out loud enough to be heard in three adjoining states. "You might not have your just desserts, Dick, but it looks like they do!" Bender called mockingly to his nemesis.

A loud bang rang out, making him and everyone else turn in fear. "Finally!" O'Donoghue declared loudly, firing a second shot skyward. "All right you filfy brats!" he took aim at the teens, "Now you'll pay in blood for ruining my miffion...!"

But before he could shoot, a loud growl rang out behind him. "Oh my God...!" Claire's cry made the militant leader turn-and freeze to see the Bald-Headed, Bald-Butted Killer Bear of Claire County lumbering towards him with an angry expression. "Sir...!" one of his remaining men, whimpered, having turned white with terror.

"Hold your ground, men; it's only one bear!" O'Donoghue barked. He gulped fearfully, however, as the bear rose up on its hind legs-revealing that it stood well over eight feet tall-and let out a horrific roar. This proved too terrifying for the rest of his men, who tossed down their weapons and ran screaming towards the oncoming police cars in the distance. "Get back here, you cowards!" O'Donoghue shouted after them, but he had turned white as well.

"Up the fire escape, quick!" Ferris shouted to his colleagues. They all rushed for the stairs and climbed until they were up to the third floor. Turning, they watched a shaking O'Donoghue take aim at the bear, but before he could fire, it swung a hard swipe at the gun, breaking the barrel clean in two and rendering the firearm useless. Panicked, O'Donoghue dove for his combat knife and tried to swing it at the bear, but missed its face, and was promptly disarmed by another swipe. The bear then grabbed the militant leader in its jaws and flung him hard into the side of the hotel, then pounced on him before he could get up. "Don't look, don't look!" Ferris turned away, unable, nonetheless, to block out the horrific crunching sounds and O'Donoghue's screams of agony. These continued for a good minute before the latter came to an abrupt stop, signaling beyond doubt that O'Donoghue's mission of hatred and terror had come to its final, gruesome end. "Well, you knew once the bear was mentioned that it was going to strike against someone," Ferris commented over his shoulder, "Better, of course, it be someone like him than us..."

He grabbed onto the railing as the fire escape shook hard. A quick glance down showed exactly why: the bear had now reared up on its hind legs again and was shaking the escape. And Ferris could hear the bolts start to groan; it was not out of the realm of possibility that the grizzly could pull the whole fire escape down with its visible size and strength. "Everyone hold on tight!" he cried to the others, seizing the railing hard.

"What else are we supposed to do!?" Allison shouted to him, gripping the other railing just as hard. "Did Buck Ripley say it was this big when he was face to face with it!?" she shouted up to Andrew.

"He did, but I didn't believe him that it could be this massive!" Andrew shouted back, tumbling to his knees as the escape groaned from the bear's shoving. "Brian, you're the smart one; tell us a way out of here!" he called to the brain on the next landing.

"Wish I could, Andy, but I'm drawing a blank right now; Kevin!" Brian shouted to the younger boy atop the hotel.

"I've got nothing left up here!" Kevin cried down, "You'll have to...!"

His eyes locked in on a figure coming around the corner. "Giant bear, do something!" he shouted. The teens turned to see Wally running towards them with the shotgun lamp in hand. The hotel owner nodded at the sight of the bear, which was now trying to climb up to the lowest level of the fire escape, which would have brought it into range of its targets, and ran forward. "Great, shoot it, shoot it...come on, what the hell are you waiting for!?" Bender yelled impatiently to Wally, who was fumbling around trying to plug the shotgun lamp into an external outlet near the fire escape.

"Got to warm the barrel up first; I've filled it up with extra powerful bullets if it ever came back!" Wally shouted back, finally shoving the plug into the outlet and turning the lamp on.

"Hurry up and shoot, who knows how much longer this fire escape can hold!" Sloane cried to him, shrieking as the entire fire escape leaned forwards towards the bear, who opened its jaws wide, as if beckoning for the teens to fall right into its mouth, and roared. Wally took aim at the bear, not bothering to remove the bulb or lampshade. "Cover your ears, here we go!" he called out loud. He grabbed the lamp's trigger and pulled it hard. With a tremendous bang and a bright flash of light, the gun went off. Seconds later, an equally loud bang coincided with all the hair on the left side of the bear's body exploding off, leaving it completely bald on that side. Yowling, the bear pulled away from the fire escape, turned and ran back towards the woods, yelping at the top of its lungs. Its potential victims breathed deep sigh of relief. "And now, it shall forever be known as the Half-Bare Bear of Claire County-the name may be square, but its not unfair," Ferris commented out loud. "Over there, boys, there's your men," he called to the approaching police and Secret Service cars that were pulling up behind the hotel, pointing at the still being eaten alive Vernon and Rooney. The authorities leaped out of their cars, assessed the situation, and fired several shots into the air to disperse the birds. "Well, well, Edward R. Rooney. We got a memo over the wires about you jumping out of an airplane," one of the cops hauled the now completely feather-covered Rooney to his feet, "Unfortunately, it's time for the principal to go back to detention."

"This is a mistake; I can explain everything...!" Rooney tried to shout.

"Sorry, Mr. Rooney, but I can only delightfully say, game over," Ferris strolled over with a grin, watching his nemesis be handcuffed. "Gentlemen, Mr. Rooney, along with Mr. Vernon, joined in with the men who tried to kill the president, and they tried to kill all of us on a number of occasions as well," he gestured at his fellow vacationers, "So they can be charged with assault and battery, attempted murder, and aiding and abetting terrorists first and foremost."

"I'm innocent; I've done nothing wrong...!" the equally feather-covered Vernon protested as he was handcuffed in turn.

"Nothing wrong, Vernon? We got the news your prints and Rooney's prints were found all over the house of Mr. Arthur Bender, who was found beaten to an inch of his life, down in the Chicago area," another cop spoke up.

"And they shot at us and threw grenades at us in the woods; we'll all testify to that in court," Allison stormed over, glaring both educators down, "They almost beat Claire to death before that," she gestured at the redhead behind her, "And lord knows what else they've been up to."

"Don't listen to her, she's a pathological liar!" Vernon snarled to the police, "She's been friendly with John Bender for months; that means she's lost all morality for...!"

"Stuff it, Vernon; you can tell that to the judge. Let's go," the cops started leading them off. "Why did I ever listen to you, Ed!? This man put me up to everything!" Vernon told the authorities, gesturing with his foot at Rooney, "I'll turn state's evidence..."

"Oh no you don't, Richard! You were a full partner in this the whole time!" Rooney bellowed in rage, "You're not throwing me under the bus for this...!"

"I should have thrown you under the bus years ago, Ed, because I can't stand you! I could never stand you; you're a sniveling little weasel, and you made me lose my clout with the school board with your stupid all-day pursuit of Bueller in the spring!" Vernon barked back at him, "If you hadn't made me look like a fool to back you up to them, maybe I could have held on to my position after Johnson's family pressed charges...!"

" _Your_ position!? The superintendent's job was MINE, Richard, and you stole it off me by politicking with the school board!" Rooney roared, "I waited five years to get out of the principal's position, and you leaped over my head just like that by putting me down behind my back! I should have gone nuclear with you then, and if you try and stab me in the back in court, I'll make your life a living hell like you can't imagine!"

"Why wait till then, Ed!? If you want to go, let's go right now!" Vernon shouted angrily at the former principal, "I can kick your ass easy any time!"

"Bring it on, you cowardly son of a...!" an equally angry Rooney lunged at him. The two of them kicked and bumped each other hard as they were loaded into the back of the nearest police car, all while screaming every obscenity in the book in each other's faces, and could still be seen assailing each other as they and the remaining militants were driven away. "And so, we wish them happy life sentences in maximum security," Ferris said happily, waving goodbye to the former educators, "With luck, they'll end up in the same cell, and can go at it with each other every night."

"Guys, everyone all right?" Melissa came running over, her job to direct the authorities onto the site now done.

"Sure are, thankfully," Ferris told her.

"Great...Allison," Melissa happily hugged the brunette, "I'm so sorry for everything I said..."

"So am I," Allison gushed, "You're a great friend, and I'm glad you're all right now..."

"Claire," Jeremy was running over as well, "Is it over?"

"Yep, all over; we've taken care of them, especially Mr. Vernon," Claire nodded. She turned to Bender, who approached Jeremy. "Um, I don't usually do this, pal, but...I'm sorry I hit you," he apologized to the congressional aide, "I've come to see, well...just because a guy looks at a girl you like, that doesn't make them evil, and...well, anyway, if Claire likes you more, then she deserves you more. And it looks like you are a good man."

He extended his hand to Jeremy, who shook it firmly. "Looks like you're not really that bad either, John," Jeremy told him, "I heard over the phone that you got everyone out of that cave, and..."

"Great job, everyone," a beaming Kevin came down the fire escape to ground level, "We all did good. And by the way," he turned to Andrew, "Very nice save there against the redheaded guy when he was about to let Ferris have it."

"Well, Ferris gave us a good week, and I couldn't let Mr. Rooney get away with cold-blooded murder..." Andrew confessed.

"You know what else you did?" Kevin smiled, "You took a good first step to banishing Larry's ghost. No flinching, no fear, you just took him down without a problem. Didn't I say a good deed erases a bad deed?"

"Well...yeah, I guess so," Andrew realized with a smile, "I guess I did start to..."

"Andy!" came a familiar worried cry. All eyes turned towards the figures disembarking from a red catering truck that had parked alongside the police and Secret Service cars. And Mrs. Clark was sprinting rapidly towards her son. "Oh Andy, thank god you're all right!" she rushed him and embraced him, "When we saw that terrorists were at work up here, I was scared the worst had happened! If anything had happened to you, I don't know what I'd do...!"

"It looks like your son helped save the life of the president and the emir of Kuwait," a nearby Secret Service agent spoke up, "These kids stopped the terrorists from setting off the explosives under the stage the president was making a speech on, and it looks like they took out a good number of the rest of the band all by themselves. Special thanks to you, young man, for taking down the terrorist that was about to shoot the president," he commended Bender, who slouched down in embarrassment, "I think that may call for a special commendation for you."

"Well, for someone that doesn't like the president much, not bad, Bender," Andrew applauded the criminal.

"Only because the guy who was going to shoot him said things my old man says to me!" Bender insisted unconvincingly, "I've dedicated myself to taking down anyone who does that!"

Andrew grinned knowingly. "Dad..." he noted his father and brother approaching now as well.

"You'd said you were going to the Standish girl's estate," his father said grimly, "Ordinarily, I'd have to punish you good for this."

"Well, Dad, I..."

"But I won't," Mr. Clark's expression lightened, "After all, you're a man now, and we parents have to let go eventually, don't we?"

"You mean..."

"Andy, I'm so sorry," sniffing, Mr. Clark fell to his knees penitently, "I didn't realize what I was doing to you, that I was pushing you down the wrong path like that. I never meant to hurt my boy in any way. Can you forgive a foolish old man?"

Andrew broke into a smile. "It's all right, Dad," he put an arm around his father, "Let's just move forward as best we can."

"Thank you," Mr. Clark hugged his older son, "I'll make this up any way I can, Andy; just name it. Kevin," he noticed his younger son's friend nearby, "What are you doing here?"

"Helping Andy learn more about himself-and saving the day yet again," Kevin told him.

"You mean I missed out on another big showdown!?" Julian looked disappointed.

"Don't feel bad, Julian; we didn't get to do nearly as much as we did in Las Vegas," Kevin comforted him, "You still have the honor of taking part in the biggest and most elaborate trap fest I've ever put together."

"But I'm glad to have joined in on this one, so now I know the thrill you did," Andrew said to his brother.

"And it's a thrill all right," Julian agreed. He leaned closer to Andrew once their parents had looked away and mumbled under his breath, "But I'd still better get what you don't take to college, or else."

"Don't worry, don't worry, I didn't forget!" Andrew hissed back. He turned and stepped aside with his parents to let Mrs. Reynolds through. "Allison," she greeted her daughter.

"Mom," Allison mumbled, "You actually came up?"

"Yes. When Andrew's mother called to say you were up here...I wouldn't have checked and seen that you weren't out at the Standishes' without prompting," she shook her head softly, "I rarely checked on you much these last few years anyway..."

"Yeah, I know, Mom. But I've managed to do well on my own."

"It looks like it. I've let so much slip away on me, I've let you grow up practically without noticing. I missed too much trying to dull all my pain; I wasn't going to miss this, especially not when it looked like you were in harm's way. Oh Allison, I've forgotten how much I love you," Mrs. Reynolds hugged her, "You've grown into a fine young woman, and I'm so glad to finally be able to tell you that."

"Have you been smoking crack, Mom?" Allison looked up at her, puzzled, "This isn't normal for you..."

"I know, but I'd like to change that going forward. And so would your father. He's probably about a half hour behind us; it took some prodding, but I got him to come along too."

"Really? Has HE been smoking crack...?"

"I certainly hope not, but I don't think so. We may not be the kind of family I wished we could have been, but I think there's still some hope for something between all of us," Mrs. Reynolds kissed her daughter on the forehead. "Oh, Claire," she noticed the redhead nearby, "I was talking with your...wait, how are you normal?" she frowned, "We'd heard you'd been beaten badly..."

"I was, but...it healed a lot quicker than everyone expected," Claire said quickly, "Um, you were saying?"

"I spoke with your father's new date; she got the call you were taken to the hospital before we did. She's been worried sick for you; she got your father to cancel the rest of their vacation and come here for you. They're probably landing in Milwaukee around now."

"What? Marcia made him...?" Claire frowned in surprise.

"Yes. And she's said how much she wants to be friends with you. So maybe you could be friendly with her when she does arrive; I think it would make her whole day," Mrs. Reynolds told her.

"Um, well...if she got him to come, I guess I could give her a chance..." Claire mumbled, shuffling about in shame. "She really cares for me that much?" she mumbled softly to herself, "Have I been too hard on her for...?"

"Sounds like she's a good friend for you," Sloane put an arm around her with a smile, "She's not your mother, but I don't think she has to be. Give her a chance."

"Well, maybe I will, then...maybe I can get a meaningful relationship with her..."

Behind the crowd, Brian was gulping as he walked towards his approaching parents. "Um, hello," he greeted them nervously.

"We like you to be honest with us when you tell us where you're going, young man," his mother told him sternly.

"I know, I'm, so sorry, Mom. I just...I just really wanted to go along for this. I felt terrible about not telling you where we were going; I hate to lie to you and Dad about anything. I even voiced my concerns to Ferris about it..." Brian rambled apologetically.

"I would have expected a lot more from you, Brian..."

"Don't punish him, Mrs. Johnson, please," Melissa rushed up, "He is genuinely sorry he wasn't on the level. And he...Mom, Dad," she noticed her own parents approaching, "How did you...?"

"Brian's mother called us. Are you all right?" her father asked.

"I am. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you we were coming here too," Melissa hung her head in shame, "I value the trust you and Mom put in me, and..."

"Oh well, I guess it's not a big deal in the end," Mrs. Johnson shrugged. "After all," she turned to her son with an apologetic expression of her own, "after we kept you from having fun all these years, Brian, maybe this was bound to have happened. I guess you deserved to have a week like this."

"So...you're not mad?" he asked.

"A little, yes, but I forgive you. And I love you. I always will," she broke into a smile and hugged him.

"So you're just letting him off the hook!? He lied to your face, and you let him go just like that!? This is not fair!" Mary protested furiously behind her parents, "If I did it, I'd lose every privilege for a month or worse! If this is the way it's going to go, then I want out of this family...!"

"Mary, don't start!" her mother warned her, "Be glad your brother's all right, after it looked like he might not be."

"Mary, I know we've never had the best of relationships," Brian bent down to his sister's level, "But I am going to miss you when I leave for college, honest. Can we call a peace and try and move forward?"

He extended a hand towards her. "Well...I'll think about it," Mary muttered non-commitally.

"Close enough for now. Mr. Winters, Mrs. Winters," Brian turned to his girlfriend's parents, "Melissa has some good news for you..."

"I've sold my rockets to NASA!" Melissa told them excitedly, "I showed President Simmons a few of my models, and he was impressed. He called up the head of NASA and told him to use my designs in future projects!"

"He did!? That's wonderful!" her father hugged her warmly, "Oh, I'm so proud of you, honey; didn't I tell you all those years that you could do it if you tried hard enough?"

"Yeah, you did, and it feels great, Dad. So thank you for supporting me all this time-same for you, Mom," she added to her mother when Mrs. Winters hugged her as well. "And really, I have Brian to thank again; he stood behind me when-Brian, what's wrong?" she noticed his now glummer expression as he looked back at the Secret Service agents commending his friends for their actions in taking down the terrorists.

"Oh, nothing, it's just...did I pass up the chance to be a true hero like the others by choosing to stay outside and help call the police?" Brian lamented sadly, "Which I didn't even get to do after I peeled off to try and keep Bender from killing Mr. Vernon...I did nothing, everyone else did everything..."

"Brian, please don't do this to yourself," Melissa begged him, putting an arm around him, "What we did was important too. You can't be truly happy if you keep comparing what you do to what everyone else does."

"I, I just can't help it; I've been doing it for too long," he confessed, "And look at them: Bender took down Mr. Vernon and saved President Simmons, Andy and Allison set the traps, Claire came up with the idea on how to stop the blast...all we did was sit in the back of the car and point out where to go. I just can't help feeling like a fifth wheel again," he shook his head, "It's just like detention all over again; I'm the spare part that doesn't seem to belong..."

"Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson," Claire came walking over, "So you came too."

"Yes we did. And good to see you're all right, Claire," Mrs. Johnson told her, also looking a little surprised that she was looking healthy, "We'd heard you'd gone to the hospital..."

"I did, but I'm all right now, thankfully. Anyway, though, I think the two of you ought to know, Brian's a hero. He saved me and Melissa earlier today," Claire told them, giving their son a grateful smile, "Mr. Vernon and Mr. Rooney wanted to use us as bait to lure everyone else to them after they assaulted me so they could kill them. They smashed my legs hard enough so that I couldn't walk, and Melissa was already unconscious from what those militia guys had done to her. We had no hope of getting away, and Mr. Vernon and Mr. Rooney said out loud that they were going to kill us after they'd finished the others off. Once the shooting started, Brian ran to me right away without any regard for his own safety. He got Melissa and I out of there; he carried us away from the shooting, and he wouldn't stop running until we were safely back at the hotel. And then when we got to the hospital, he wouldn't leave our sides until we were both all right. I can't put into words how grateful I am that he stayed with me when I needed somebody nearby. I had a rough week up here emotionally, and I'd started questioning the goodness of humanity deep down by then. Brian gave me back my faith in people with everything he did for me. So you should both be really proud of him."

"He did all that?" Mr. Johnson beamed down at his son, "Well then, I am very proud of you, Brian," he hugged him close, "For someone who said for years that you had no hope of meeting pretty girls, you sure seem adept at saving their lives."

"Unconscious!?" Mrs. Winters gasped, horrified, "Melissa, what happened up here!?" she asked her daughter.

"Those men who try to kill the president, Claire and I stumbled across them. Their leader hit me with a rock repeatedly-I don't remember much after that, but..." Melissa turned to Brian for advice on what to say. _"Your decision,"_ he mouthed to her. "..but, they were able to heal me up quickly at the hospital," she finished.

"Oh God, if the worst had happened, and we weren't able to be here to do anything...!" Mr. Winters pulled his daughter into a kiss. "Bless you again, Brian," he hugged her boyfriend, "Is there anything you won't do for Melissa?"

"Excuse me, but I was promised time to go swimming if I went along on this trip!" Mary shouted out loud.

"Yes, yes, I know, honey, and we can fulfill that promise right now," Mrs. Johnson sighed. She led her daughter towards the lake, while her husband and the Winterses now moved aside to converse on their own. "Claire, you didn't have to..." Brian started to say to her.

"Yes, I did. And every word I said was absolutely true. If you hadn't grabbed me and gotten me out of there, Brian, they would have killed me for sure, and they'd probably have finished Melissa off too," Claire gestured at the blonde, "I could tell when I looked over here that you were feeling left out again, but please don't think that way, because it doesn't matter who did what during this final showdown. You were the hero today first, and in the most important way of all. So no matter who, if anyone, I end up with," she took his hand, "you'll always be my knight from this moment on, just like you're Melissa's knight too. So thank you, Brian, from the bottom of my heart."

"Well, um, uh..." Brian stammered, "I, uh, appreciate it, Claire, but don't you think you're overselling this? After all, Bender saved the president of the United States; what's this in comparison to...?"

"Johnson," Bender in fact approached him now. "I couldn't help overhearing everything Claire said just now," he told the brain, looking grateful, "That was really brave what you did earlier, getting her to safety. I don't know if I could have done that under the same circumstances. So I can't thank you enough for this; I may have saved Matty, but for me, you saving Claire's life is ten times more important than that. If her dad shows up like Reynolds' mother says he will, I'll make sure he gives you a reward for it."

"Well, uh, thanks, Bender, but the only reward I'd want, he can't give. Because the only thing I'd really want is to have Melissa for all eternity," Brian turned and put an arm around his girlfriend, "I don't care if I get every answer on every test in college wrong; as long as she loves me, I don't need or want anything else."

Bender cracked a small smile. "You know, as recently as the beginning of this trip, I would have thought you crazy, Johnson. But I think I understand now," he told Brian, "You're a good kid with a good heart, and you do deserve a happy ending, same as the rest of us. So do me a favor and don't ever change."

"You probably don't have to worry, Bender; Brian values the important things in life too much to ever change for the worse. So I'd like your word then, Melissa Winters," Claire turned to her, "No matter what happens from here on in your life, don't ever let Brian go. If you do, you'll have to answer to me."

"Let him go? After he got me out of the woods alive too, after he pushed hard to get my rockets to NASA, after he defended me with every ounce of his being against both the Speaker and John, after he treated me like a queen all week? And after everything else he's done for me over the last four months? How could I even think of ever letting Brian go?" Melissa leaned towards him and kissed him on the cheek, "How could I when he's proven himself my hero in so many different ways?"

"He's my hero too. And as far from a fifth wheel as anyone could ever be," Claire gave Brian one more smile before bustling back over to everyone else. "She's right; you're no fifth wheel, Johnson," Bender told the brain, maintaining his small grin, "Oh, and, uh, if you have any pointers on how to make a relationship special," he leaned closer to Brian, "I'd like to know them. Claire...I don't want to take the chance of her and I..."

"I know, Bender, and I'd be glad to help if we get the chance," Brian nodded.

"Thanks," Bender shook his hand. He followed Claire back towards the crowd. "Well, well, it looks like the boy who walked out of detention alone on that fateful day now has two girls forever indebted to him," Melissa told her boyfriend with a wry grin, "And for the record, that's twice now you've saved my life, so consider me doubly indebted to you."

"Anything, absolutely anything for you, Melissa, you know that," Brian pulled her close and kissed her passionately. "And I was telling the truth too; if I can't have you in my life, my life's not worth living," he told her warmly when he'd finished the kiss.

"Well, please don't word it that way, Brian. It brings back too many unpleasant memories for me. But I do appreciate it," she smiled, "You certainly know how to make a girl really feel like she means the world to someone."

"Well, I guess I'm better than I'd thought at sweeping girls off their feet," Brian in fact swept Melissa up into his arms.

Oh stop, stop!" she laughed, giving him a playful whack on the shoulder.

"Hey you guys, we just got the message, the president wants to congratulate us all in person," Andrew called to their right, where he was walking with everyone else towards the Secret Service cars, "You coming?"

"Well...I'm not sure I would qualify..." Brian mumbled hesitantly.

"And now that I think about it," Claire spoke up, smiling at him again, "no one else could have been a hero today if someone hadn't paid attention enough to notice where the militants had set up their camp. I was looking in the wrong direction, and I think everyone else in the car was too. So the president would have been killed in the end for sure if it wasn't for you."

"Well, I..."

"Come on, pal, she's right; you're as much a hero as us with this," Andrew goaded him, waving at the brain to join him and the others. Brian slowly started nodding, a smile crossing his face. "OK then, sure, we're coming too," he agreed. "Shall we, then?" he asked Melissa.

"Do I get valet service?" she asked teasingly, locking her arms around his neck and leaning her cheek against his.

"Just say the word, fair and beautiful princess, and thy shall receive what thy wishest," Brian told her grandly.

"Lead on then, oh faithful prince," she grinned. Brian carried her in his arms towards the cars. Behind them, Ferris grinned happily. "So glad they were able to mostly make it right with their families," he told Sloane next to him, "And good to see that deep romance isn't just an illusion, as our brains here so happily illustrated. But of course, I should know, as I found the girl I love with every ounce of my being," he kissed her.

"I know," Sloane smiled at him. "Kevin, good working with you," she told the younger boy as he approached, "This was almost as fun as my last day off with Ferris-especially since we came out alive, of course."

"Yeah, I know. And if you guys want to see the whole story about what I did the last couple of Christmases, I signed a deal with Roy Walley back in December. He'll be filming at least my first two adventures that I had on my own," Kevin told her, "And who knows, if my stories can make great films, maybe yours and the others can too."

"Our day off, a film?" Sloane mused, "Well..."

"Well, why not?" Ferris said, turning sideways and winking.

"I'll take you back home, little guy," Wally put a hand on Kevin's shoulder from behind, "Which cabin were you again?"

"Number 992, Mr. McNamara." Kevin told him.

"Well, come with me, then," Wally gestured for him to follow. "See you guys around; tell everyone goodbye for me," Kevin told Ferris and Sloane as he walked away. It was at this moment that Ferris's cell phone buzzed. "Uh oh..." he groaned upon seeing the message on it.

"What?" Sloane frowned over his shoulder.

"We're going to have to cut the trip short; Mom and Dad are coming home early. They should be in town tomorrow at two, so we'll have to get back by then. But I guess it's about time to head on out now anyway. After all," he looked over his shoulder again, "With the bad guys defeated and everyone having found new founts of happiness, what else is left for us to do up here anyway? So, might as well move on to the beginning of the end now..."

* * *

"...capping off a wild night, FBI agents arrested Speaker of the House Bruce Begelman as he stepped off his private plane upon arriving back in Washington and charged him with multiple counts of aiding and abetting terrorism and treason," the morning news anchor declared on the television inside the hotel's restaurant, "Begelman has insisted he is innocent of the charges, but more than a few of the arrested militia members testified to police than they saw the Speaker directly conversing with the now deceased leader of the group, Captain Henry M. O'Donoghue, a former Army sniper in Iraq. Early this morning, congressional caucus leaders have announced they are drawing up impeachment documents against Begelman if he does not voluntarily resign his post within a week. Reports have also come in that the headquarters of the Midwest Patriots Freedom Army in Appleton has been raided by the FBI, who are looking to see if anyone else knew of the assassination attempt..."

"I can't believe Mr. Begelman would stoop that low," Natalie grumbled in disgust from the table nearest the TV, "Selling out to people like that just because he thought Dad was doing a bad job..."

"Well, the warning signs were there," Cameron mused from next to her, "His stubborn insistence that he knew what was best for the country, his anger over your father beating him in the primary, probably a load of other things. Well, life in Florence ADX might knock some sense into him."

"Maybe. I'd just like to say, before you leave, guys, thanks again for everything," Natalie commended Cameron and his friends, "This was an even bigger help for us than you did on your senior class trip. And it was great seeing you again, Cameron," she kissed him, "I enjoyed everything we got to do together, and I can't wait for college to start so it can be just the two of us."

"Same here," Cameron stroked her long black hair, "Just remember that your father promised to give me campaign pointers; I'm serious about that career in politics."

"And if you need any help with that campaign, Cam, consider me your first volunteer," Ferris patted his best friend on the back. "Speaking of politics," he turned to Jeremy, who was also sitting at the table with them, "Now that your boss has a life sentence waiting for him, what are you going to do now?"

"Well, unfortunately, I'm still too young to run for office yet. But I'm sure one of the other Wisconsin representatives would be glad to take me on," Jeremy said.

"Especially after everything you did yesterday to stop the plot, I'm sure," Sloane agreed.

"When I get all the experience I need, and I reach the right age, I'll run for office. And if Claire's available...god, I hope she's still available then," Jeremy mused, "I really do love her..."

"I think you do. And, it looks like you'll have the chance to tell her yourself before she leaves," Ferris turned to the restaurant door, where Claire was leading their fellow vacationers and their families in for breakfast. She was conversing with a smile with a dark-haired woman that Ferris knew had to be Marcia Maddox. He gestured Claire over. "So, what's your opinion of her now?" he asked her.

"You know, I think I might just give Marcia a chance," Claire's smile widened, "She's made it clear she doesn't want to replace Mom, and she's interested in a lot of the things I am. And she's told Dad to try and love me for real, without burying me under gifts. So maybe I was too hasty to dismiss her."

"Well, I hope it does work out for you, Claire. Um, before you go," Jeremy rose to his feet and took her hands, "Again, I'm sorry about everything I did wrong this week. I'll never be able to look at another girl again without comparing her to you. If you like John more, then by all means go to him, but...I'll be there if you want me, I promise. I'll stay single for you."

"I appreciate it, Jeremy," she turned her smile to him, "I forgive you. You've paid your penitence, and it's clear you do genuinely care for me."

"And I do too, Cherry my dear," Bender hugged her from behind. "But you're a good man too, O'Connor, and I know she'd do well with you," he told Jeremy, shaking the congressional aide's hand.

"You're not bad either, John," Jeremy said with a nod. "Well, I'd better get going," he checked his watch, "The other aides are heading back to Washington in a half hour. It was great to meet all of you," he bid farewell to the other teens, bustling out of the restaurant. No sooner had he left than President Simmons came in. "Heard you folks are on your way out after breakfast," he told everyone, "I just want to thank you and your kids firsthand again for everything they've done this week, for me and for the U.S.A."

"Where's Mom?" Natalie frowned, looking around for the First Lady.

"She said she had something to take care of, honey; she should be in shortly before we head back to Washington. Andrew," the president approached the wrestler, "Ahmed and his uncle had to leave early before dawn, but they sent their best wishes and their hope that you can find peace-and that it was an honor to work with you regardless of everything."

"Well, the next time you're in Kuwait City, Mr. President, tell them I said thanks, and that I wish Ahmed good luck at the Nairobi Olympics," Andrew told him.

"I will. As for your families," the president stepped forward, "So you don't have to ride back in a catering truck, I've instructed the Secret Service to take you back to where you all parked yesterday in their vehicles."

"Much appreciated, Mr. President," Mr. Johnson shook his hand.

"And I hope the Arab council you're setting up works too, Mr. President, sir," Brian added, "If we can make the world a better place, I'd love to see it work."

"That's what I'm hoping, Brian. We at least had to try. Well, before you do go," he scanned the group, "Is there anything else I can do for any of you?"

"Just remember your promise about Andie's mother," Allison reminded him.

"Yes, I have, Allison. I'll see what I can do the first chance I get..."

* * *

"Pool's not open yet, Mrs. Simmons," the maintenance man fixing the shattered glass window to the pool told the approaching First Lady.

"I know, but I'm not going in to swim," she told him, "I'd, well, just like a quiet place to make a call."

"Oh, well, OK, I guess we can handle that," the maintenance man stepped aside to let her in. Mrs. Simmons trudged over to one of the deck chairs on the opposite side of the pool and slowly sat down in it. "Give me some space for this," she instructed her Secret Service detail, "I'd like a little privacy. Just watch the door so no one comes in till I'm done."

The agents obligingly stepped back to form a wide ring around the entire pool. Taking a deep, nervous breath, the First Lady dug a piece of paper out of her suit pocket and slowly started dialing the number on it. Her finger hesitated over the final number, but she forced herself to push it. The phone was answered by a once-familiar voice after two rings. "Hel-Hello, Cathy," Mrs. Simmons choked up, tears streaming down her face, "It's Nancy. I'd like...how did I get your number? Well, I'm sure you've heard that my husband's now president of the United States; I can access any legal information I want, especially with my daughter having become a computer ace...yes, Natalie has. Anyway, I did a search, and I figured you'd have wanted to find a quiet place to live across the country from the Chicago area after...everything. Emerald Lake in Washington fit best, and it looks like I was right...yes, I know how long it's been since we spoke, but I needed to speak to you again. I...I've had my eyes opened this week, and I've come to realize, that grudge I was holding against you, even though I still think what you did was wrong, was too harsh. I remembered how close we used to be, and for the first time in a long time, I remembered how much we used to share together...and I finally realized how much I've missed you all these years..."

She broke down sobbing. Taking deep breaths to try and regain her composure, she wiped at her eyes and continued, "Let's bury the hatchet, Cathy. We're the only family we have left, at least from our own family...you have? Well, at least you did find happiness after you left. But that's also why I wanted to call, Cathy. We had some kids from our neck of the woods come up to Matthew's summit with Kuwait's emir this week and...and it happens one of them's close friends with Andie. She asked Matthew to look for her mother...no, I haven't. You told me to stay away, and I did. I've wondered whether that was the right call for a while now, but I haven't had any contact with her or Jack since you left. Matthew and Natalie both think you're dead...yes, I told them that. And since we'd drifted so far apart by the time I'd first met Matthew, it was practically the case to me anyway. I'd told them I'd gone to visit Mom and Dad when I confronted you at O'Hare when you were leaving Jack...they realized what you were going to do in your last call to them before you left when you said you wanted to see more of the country, and they told me to try and stop you. They knew you wouldn't listen to them at that point, and figured I could knock some sense into you. I still wish you'd listened to me, but I am sorry for how mad I got and what I said to you then, Cathy; I was completely out of line by the end of our fight. But anyway, the point is, I'm begging you, Cathy: call Jack and Andie. Look, I know you've got a new life now, but...Cathy, maybe Jack wasn't the right person for you after all, but he's still the father of your child, the child who's had to grow up without you because you made the mistake of thinking her father was too low on the social ladder for you. Haven't you spent nights wondering how Andie's been doing, what she's become? Don't you feel any pain or remorse for leaving her to grow up alone? Well, I'm glad you have, then. Andie's friend and her friends made me realize the importance of family more than ever. All those years in the governor's mansion in Lansing and now the White House blinded me to a lot of things, including Natalie. I've tried to make it right with her since then, and so should you."

She glanced around to confirm that only the agents were listening in to her call. "Please just call them, Cathy," she begged her sister, "If they...it's all right, Cathy, I don't blame you for being afraid. I'd be too. But at least give them closure. They deserve that much. And if they're not angry, please go to them, if only for a little while. Let Andie see her mother's face one last time. Let her see that you haven't forgotten about her, or her father, even though you did start over. No, that's not the only reason I called. I...I want to see you too, Cathy. We've spent too long pretending the other one hasn't existed. I really, really want my sister back. Either I can come there, or I can arrange for you to come to the White House; it's your choice. But I want to see you; I...I need you, Cathy. And I'm so, so sorry for everything I did wrong on my end. Please say you'll come."

She broke down again when the answer came. "Thank you, you don't know how much I appreciate it that you can...that we can forgive each other like this," she sobbed, "I'll call and make the arrangements for you. I'll come along for the trip; clearly we've got a lot of catching up with each other to do. And we can stop in Shermer on the way and drop in there-don't worry, I'll call Jack ahead of time so he and Andie have fair warning...I can get his number just as easily. And let's not turn our backs to each other anymore; let's get back to where we once were as kids. I need my sister in my life from now on. Thank you. I love you, Cathy, I love you so much. I'll see you very soon; let me know when you're ready."

She hung up, sniffing in joy. "Well, Mom, Dad, we did it," she glanced skyward, "You wanted us to make up, and now we have." She turned towards the glass wall of the pool building to see the Shermer High students walking past with suitcases in hand, none of them noticing her. "And thank you, kids," she commended them softly, "We couldn't have done this without your help."

* * *

"Can we have a moment alone before we go, Ferris?" Andrew asked him as they stepped outside the hotel.

"Sure, sure, just don't take too long. I want to be back with at least an hour to spare before my parents get back," Ferris said, glancing at his watch.

"Don't worry, this will only take a minute," Andrew waved the four other members of the fateful detention into a circle. "Well," he took a deep breath, fighting back tears, "I guess this is pretty much it for us for now. Once we get back to Shermer, it'll pretty much be time for us to go our own ways. So while we're still here together, I just want to say, it's been an honor to have met and become friends with each of you. I just wish we could have known each other longer, that we could have seen as much as we do now earlier..."

"We know, Andy," Claire was on the verge of tears herself, "I'm glad to be moving on from Chicago, but I'm going to miss all of you guys so much," she sadly looked up at them, "Over the last few months, you've all become like the brothers and sisters I never had, that I never knew I wanted. I would have never believed I'd be saying that six months ago, but it's the truth. I guess...I guess...we are family in a way. So no matter what, if we never see each other again after we get back to town, please don't forget..."

"We'll never forget, Claire, not after what we've all done for each other," Brian took her hand, "I wouldn't have found Melissa if it wasn't for you guys; I wouldn't even be alive now if I hadn't met all of you. No matter where we go from here, we'll always walk together forever. So don't worry; I guarantee we'll never forget each other."

He glanced around the others, who nodded solemnly. They all embraced in a warm group hug, tears streaming down their faces. "It's amazing how it takes only one day for someone to touch so many people's lives so much," Allison mused, sniffing.

"Yeah, Reynolds, it does," Bender mumbled softly. "Well, shall we go then, Cherry?" he turned to Claire, a heavy look on his face.

"Yep, let's go, John. And thank you, for finding the better angels of your nature when it counted," Claire hugged him.

"If you prefer O'Connor to me, you can have him. I can understand..."

"I haven't decided yet. But I don't need to rush it. Not when I have two great men in my life now, you being one of them."

"Listen, Cherry, I'll do what I can to make it out to Tucson next chance I get, I promise..."

"I know," she smiled, then walked towards the front Ferrari, where Ferris and his friends were waiting inside. "OK, we're ready, Ferris," she told him, sliding next to Cameron, "And thanks for inviting us; this was a great week in the end."

"Glad to know. And John, I'm so glad you came along, and that you didn't leave when you had the chance," Ferris smiled at Bender, who was sitting down on Cameron's other side, "Hope you liked it too."

"Yeah, I guess so. You're crazy and a pain, Bueller...but you're all right. So thanks," Bender cracked a small smile at him. "But my pot better be exactly where you dumped it," his scowl returned, "If it's not, then you're still in big trouble..."

"Don't worry, don't worry; nobody would think of looking for it down there," Ferris assured him.

"You're essentially all right too, John," Cameron shook Bender's hand, "I think you still need to try and be more sociable and apply yourself more positively to the world-at least that's my opinion..." he gulped when Bender thrust a fist into his face, "But anyway, thanks so much for your help in saving Natalie and her family. And maybe I'll try and extend an olive branch to my father if you're going to do the same with yours. No harm in trying, after all, and if there's nothing left to our relationship going forward, at least I'll know."

"I think it's certainly worth a try, Cameron. If you want me to be there when you go, I'll be glad to come along," Ferris told him, "OK, then, everyone ready?" he glanced back to the second Ferrari.

"Take us out, Ferris," Melissa gave him a thumbs-up.

"OK then, homeward bound we go!" Ferris started his car's engine and hit the radio's button, prompting the tones of Bob Seger to rise up. "And again, perfect song selection," he glanced sideways and winked, "Well, hope you all liked the story. Feel free to leave a review any time you want, and..."

"Will you cut that out, Bueller!? I hate it when you do that!" Bender barked at him.

"Last time, John, promise. Story's over anyway. All together now!" Ferris shouted to everyone else, pulling off down the road. Everyone joined with him in belting out the lyrics as they drove off into the sunrise-for all intents and purposes, the sunrise of the rest of their lives: "Roll, roll me away; I want to roll me away tonight. Gotta keep rolling, keep riding, keep searching till I find what's right. And as the sunset faded, I spoke to the faintest first starlight. And said next time, next tiiiiiiiiiiime, we'll get it right!"

* * *

"Have a safe ride back," a smiling Stanpovalichki waved goodbye to the Ferraris from the side of the road, unseen by everyone on board them. "Yeah, they'll be just fine, Keema," he scratched his dog behind his ears, "All of them are going to make out great in this world. I just know it deep down. Well, shall we head on home to Chicago?"

Keema whimpered as he rose up to all four legs. "Yeah, I know we've probably got another hearing upstairs coming, buddy, especially after bringing the O'Connor kid back to life when they prefer us not to go that far outside of dire emergencies, and jamming all those guys' guns on them at the critical moment. But since it was for everyone's benefit, I think they'll let it slide. Besides, there's lots more people back in the greater Chicago area in need of our help, and once they see we'll go the extra mile for them...well, you'll see," the homeless man assured his pet.

He started walking down the road with his dog, then stopped and turned. "Oh, and by the way," he said out loud, as if talking to an imaginary audience, "This may have been an unofficial work of fiction, but don't think for one moment there aren't others like me out there in the real world where you are. You can call us angels, you can call us whatever you want, but the point is, we are out there, always watching over all of you. So whenever you feel you can't go on, remember, we are there, even if you can't physically see us. Just like the town of Shermer does exist somewhere out there for all of you, waiting, just like the lands of Oz and Narnia, to open itself up to you whenever you need to find a place where happy endings feel real, where people still care, where friendship and love truly do matter. Just look for Shermer whenever you need to, and you'll always find it. I guarantee it."

A horn blared to his right. "Need a lift, buddy?" Aker leaned out the window of his truck.

"Don't mind if I do," Stanpovalichki led Keema towards the truck and climbed in the passenger side. "How far are you headed?" he asked Aker as the restaurant owner started driving again.

"Headed back to my restaurant off Exit 275 on I-94. I spent the night up here after I helped a couple of people reconnect with their kids. That really felt good," Aker sighed contentedly, "I've been without my own family for some time now; getting to help them made me feel like I had a family again."

"Yeah, I'd believe it," Stanpovalichki smiled, leaning back in his seat as Aker drove off down the road and out of sight, "If anything's true in this world, it's that helping others and gaining friends is the most important thing of all. And you can quote me on that..."

THE END


End file.
